


Master of My Sea

by CatherineBraganza



Category: Vikings (TV)
Genre: Action & Romance, Action/Adventure, Adventure & Romance, Angst and Romance, Coming of Age, F/M, Historical, Multi, Mythology References, Old Norse, References to Norse Religion & Lore, Romance, Slow Burn, Slow Romance, keeping it classy, non gratuitous sexual themes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-22
Updated: 2021-02-05
Packaged: 2021-02-28 00:00:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 25
Words: 126,621
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22840657
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CatherineBraganza/pseuds/CatherineBraganza
Summary: Ivar was her anchor, and Kára was his sail. Neither could survive the sea without the other, much to Aslaug's chagrin. She could never accept that her favourite son's destiny was intertwined with the daughter of the one woman in all of Midgard the queen was envious of. This long one-sided rivalry, however, was just the tip of the iceberg.Slow burn____________________"Do you know her?”Floki paused again, just before tying the knot of the bandage. He was avoiding the boy’s gaze, but he finally sighed and gently placed his hand on the boy’s other shoulder. Floki brought his face close to his so his eyes leveled with the boy’s, and his forehead nearly touching the other’s as well. The action made Ivar’s blood went slightly cold at the ominous aura that poured into the room the moment Floki grew serious.“I do, my dear Ivar, and there is something that you must know,” He gripped the boy’s shoulder a little tighter, and his voice grew low and dark. “This red-haired girl you saw…. She will, one day, be the mother of your children.”Floki burst out in a fit of giggles as he pulled away from Ivar, who in turn began to punch him in the shoulder, screaming: “Shut up! I do not like her!”
Relationships: Future ships - Relationship, Ivar (Vikings)/Original Character(s), Ivar (Vikings)/Original Female Character(s), Ivar (Vikings)/Reader, Original Female Character/Original Male Character, Ragnar Lothbrok/Original Character(s), Ragnar Lothbrok/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 35
Kudos: 198





	1. 0: the last sunrise

**Author's Note:**

> Mainly published on ff.net and published on Wattpad. Published here to reach more audiences. My handles are Catherine Braganza (ffnet) and Kathinnraudi (wattpad). My primary publishing spot is ff.net, as that is the original place I published the story. 
> 
> Rating may go up in future. 
> 
> Disclaimer: I own nothing produced by History's Vikings. This isn't going to follow the timeline of the show, nor will it be completely historically accurate, but I'll try to be as realistic as possible, as well as do the best research as I can. I assure you though, that everything I've done is within the realm of possibility, which includes changing the condition of what was wrong with Ivar's legs. Since there is no solid evidence of what his condition was, I've talked it over with some people and determined a completely believable reason which will be addressed in this story.
> 
> This story will have a lot of dark themes pertaining to death, mental illness, and other things that should be fairly obvious for a story/show about Vikings. If you're easily triggered, it's probably not a good idea to read this fic.

The snow crunched with every step he took, followed by the groaning of the ice under the pressure of his weight. He neared the center of the lake, where the crystalline water began to thin and the air in his lungs grew heavy. The bitter winds swirled around him, calling out his name almost in a taunting manner. His clouded eyes were glued to his feet, red and frostbitten from walking barefoot on the snow and ice, but they were numb and no longer felt anything. The blizzard was harsh that day, so harsh that if he dared to look up from his feet, the flying snow and ice shards would cut his eyes and blind him. They already stung his cheeks, forehead, and nose harshly, but now, it did not matter. Nothing mattered.

The man had stopped suddenly, with his hands balled into fists at his sides and his breathing shaking and harsh. His teeth chattered as he bared them in anticipation of what laid underneath him. He waited for the moment when the ice would cave underneath him and his body would be enveloped in the cold grip of death beneath the frozen lake.

He let go of his senses the moment he closed his eyes, all except for his ears. They could not hear further than the rapid winds that whistled loudly around him and threatened to push him onto his back. However, mixed between the harsh thundering currents, he heard the sound of wings, or what he believed to be wings. They were so similar to the winter winds that he had told himself it was just that and kept his eyes closed, until he felt his face grow warm as if he was laying in a soft field under the mid-spring sun.

When he opened his eyes, a large woman stood before him. She was a foot taller, with long legs and broad shoulders, and her hair tumbled down her shoulders to her bare feet in drapes of blood-orange that contrasted the sea of white grey around them. On top of her head was a helmet of gold, with two pearl coloured wings from either side of the temple of the helm, and there under the brow were a pair of seaweed coloured eyes shining through. Her face was coloured in sorrow as she stared at him with dew clinging to her eyelashes.

" _Hvað ertu að gera?_ "

He did not know what to say, especially not now, where he was, in front of this divine being. It wasn't until they fell from his chin and onto his trembling hand that he had realized he had been crying hot tears. They didn't stop, and kept falling from his cheeks like a waterfall, falling down to his toes and pelting the ice underneath him.

" _Ég veit ekki,_ " came his answer at last through trembling lips.

A long pale arm extended towards him, her elegantly long fingers moved to touch his cheek, where his tears betrayed him and fell freely without his knowledge. However, before she could have brushed the tip of her finger against his skin, the ice under him cracked and gave in. He crashed through the glass-like surface instantly, and all the warmth was washed off his skin the moment the water bit his flesh. He stared upwards with wide blurred eyes, clawing at the water, trying to climb up the wall of darkness that curled around his body. The light that shone through the hole he fell through began to shrink the further he sank. Before the cold could take his sight, he could see a large body follow him through the water. Silky red ribbons clouded the water as the woman dove after him with her arms stretched forward.

It was too late. His muscles had turned to lead, and his last breath of air escaped his throat and out of his open, blue lips. With a final blink, he stared into the face, blurred by water and death, that looked to him like his last sunrise.

* * *

  
  


> **note:**
> 
> **I did not put in the translation of the Icelandic for a reason. The prologue is supposed to be mysterious and ominous, and if I wanted the words to be known, I wouldn't have bothered to put in Icelandic/old norse anyway. This is all I will say about it, because I don't want to give anything away.**
> 
> **I used google translate for the Icelandic, so if it's not correct, blame google XD.**


	2. 1: the bird and the snake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ivar meets a curious girl in a tree. Curiously annoying.

The spring breeze was stronger the higher up the hill Ivar went. Without the help of someone else, or the wheelbarrow he was put in, the twelve-year old struggled quite a bit to reach his destination. By the time that he got to a tree, his face was flushed and he was sweating; the breeze felt like the kiss of a goddess, and was well appreciated. If his mother knew he had left on his own and climbed up the hill, she would keep him in a cage once she got her hands on him.

Ivar had no muscle, unlike his brothers, but he stirred restless constantly sitting in a cot or chair, glued to the hip of his mother, and always under the shadow of her eye. This moment on the hill, as high he could possibly get, was his new sanctuary. A moment of solace and freedom; even the pain in his arms and stomach from crawling like a snake on his belly was invited. He relished in the aches in his muscles, as they were a reminder of being alive, when he spent his entire life lying like a corpse.

Once he situated himself between the roots of the tree he decided to rest on, he took his skin of weak mead and took a well deserved drink. He winced at the taste, the bittersweet liquid burning down his throat. That was another thing his mother did not allow him to have, but every once in awhile, Ubbe would sneak him a horn of it at feasts. He still hadn't gotten used to the taste, but at this moment it was his victory spirits. Small for everyone else, but a big one for him. Ivar leaned his head back and relaxed, then lazily gazed at the view from where he sat. He could see the stretch of the sea from here, and the cliffs on the far west that hugged Kattegat. From here, he felt like he was on top of the world, standing taller than anyone else.

Suddenly his peace was interrupted by an object falling and hitting him painfully on his shoulder. He winced as his hand flew to his shoulder, and when he pulled away he saw bright red on his fingers. Next to him shone a silver arrowhead, just the size of a finger, but the tip was sharp and had a small dot of red, his blood, on the very tip. He furrowed his eyebrow at it, and picked it up gingerly, then weighed it in his palm.

"Hey, that's mine!"

The voice came from above him, so he quickly looked up. How did he not notice someone was sitting in this tree?

"What are you doing?" Ivar asked, his fingers curling around the arrowhead.

"Fletching," she answered, unmoved from the branch she sat on, which was at least 6 or more feet above Ivar's head.

"You could've killed me, if this landed on my head," he held up the arrow in his hand and waved it at her.

She seemed to roll her eyes, "It wouldn't have _killed you_. At most, it would have given you a nice scar to brag about."

"Why would I brag about a scar I got from an arrow falling on my head?"

She shrugged, "Boys always lie about how they got a scar. Now, come on, give me my arrow, it's my last one."

Ivar's nostrils flared a bit, and looked at her through an irritated hooded gaze, "I can't."

"What do you mean you can't?"

"I said I _can't,"_ he responded aggressively. His lips curled, as his fingers did around the arrow. His day was ruined. His sanctuary compromised by a tree-dwelling ginger and her falling arrows, and now his shoulder was bleeding on his tunic. Mother would not be happy.

The girl strained her neck to get a better look at him, and immediately saw his legs, thin and bound together by leather belts and iron buckles. She immediately knew who it was; she'd be a fool if she didn't.

"Hold on," she said, but Ivar ignored her. His hand went back to his shoulder, his lip curled in pain and annoyance. As soon as he got the chance, he would shiv the girl with her own bloody arrow; it was entirely her fault, not his.

A curtain of red and orange disrupted his view of the sea, and a pair of green-blue eyes stared at him upside down. They were so close that their noses touched, which caused Ivar to pull back in surprise, uncomfortable with the close proximity of a girl that wasn't his mother. He glanced up, noticing that she was hanging off the branch above him by the grip of the back of her knee.

"What are you, part bat?"

"Just give me my arrowhead," she extended her hand.

Ivar looked at her, then to her hand; it was blistered and full of tiny cuts. Dots of red were on her fingertips, likely from fletching, but the state of it overall showed signs of labour. Her hands weren't the delicate hands most girls had, which meant that she was likely an orphan, or some kind of working hand's child. Ivar looked at his own hands, smooth and untainted, save for the dirt and slight scratches from his trip up the hill.

His fingers tightened around the arrowhead, the action wasn't lost on the girl. Her eyes narrowed at him, but he didn't notice that she was watching him closely.

"If you cut me with it, I'll punch you in the throat," the threat snapped Ivar out of his thoughts. His eyes looked at her, for a moment a flash of fear flickered across his young blue eyes before it was quickly replaced by with the same irritation. He then shoved the arrowhead into her open hand and pulled away from her.

"I wasn't going to cut you," he huffed, crossing his arms.

The girl ignored him as she pulled herself up to the branch with ease. Ivar watched with acute envy as she expertly flipped over the branch before dropping before him perfectly on her feet without losing her balance.

"I was told not to go near you," she said out of the blue, her eyes looking at the arrowhead, not missing the presence of blood on the tip. "Did this cut you?"

With furrowed brows, Ivar adjusted himself on the floor before moving his hand to his shoulder. "It's only a scratch—" He didn't want to know that she hurt him. This was the first time he actually got a scratch or cut that deep, even if it wasn't as deep to most people's standards. However, her first statement held more interest to him. "— Who told you not to go near me?"

She looked at him finally, "The other children. They saw you kill that boy with an axe, simply because you did not like him."

He stared back her with clenched teeth and a jutted jaw. It had been a couple of years since that had happened, but he forgot it completely. It was only now, with her mentioning it had brought back the memory. It came to him so vividly, as if it was a dream he had the night before. From the sound of the skull crushing from the impact of his axe, to his head splitting open so easily, as if he was cutting into an apple. The once forgotten memory stirred something in him, pulling at his belly button, which seemed to intensify in ferocity when he matched her eyes. She did not seem phased by it, by the unperturbed look she gave him.

With his lip curled, he answered with a slight tilt of his head. "Maybe you should listen to them, as you are not quite high on my list of people I like after this first meeting."

The girl gave a snort, "I'm not afraid of you."

"How very stupid of you, then. After all, I did kill a boy for less of a reason. You did maim me with your stupid arrow. You _should_ be afraid of me."

Her green eyes rolled, the curl of the corner of her lips showed her amusement, which only irritated him more, if that was possible. "All I need to do is move five feet to the left or climb back in this tree. Besides, you came up here unarmed, which was stupid _of you_."

Ivar launched himself at her, his arms outreached, aiming for her throat, but before he could even touch her, a dagger was placed under his chin. He froze, and suddenly he felt his blood run ice cold in fear. The feeling of dread crept into his mind as he found himself staring into this girl's eyes, just as wild and unpredictable that some would say was like his own.

"That's quite the journey you took, from your cushioned seat in the hall. You traveled all the way up here, where no one could possibly find you," She kept the dagger still on his chin. There was nothing impressive about it, it was about 5 inches long, with a cloth handle, and it had early signs of rust; she was clearly using it to fletch the feathers. Still, it was enough to end his life without effort, all she needed to do was drag it across his throat, which was only a couple of inches from where she held it. "If I kill you, no one would know. All I need to do is throw your body off the cliff, and no one will ever find you."

Ivar swallowed, his hands shook either out of fear or anger, he did not know. But he felt resilient nonetheless. He was too prideful and resentful to show he was frightened, especially to a stupid peasant girl. He was a son of Ragnar! He wasn't afraid of death.

"Do it," He jutted out his chin and widened his eyes, challenging her. "I don't care."

The girl just stared at him, knife still at his throat, eyes searching his. She was completely unreadable, outside the sly smirk she had not let fallen since she pulled the dagger on him. The girl took this moment to examine him fully, since she had no chance before crossing paths. His face was showing signs of puberty, his hair was darkening, and his brow was showing the signs of manhood. Ivar did not look like he had when he murdered that boy. Small as he was, he was still Ragnar's son, and they all took a liking to him in some shape or form. Even a cripple, Ivar was still attractive, and as a twelve year old girl, she obviously noticed this distinction.

In a quick movement, the knife was moved from his chin, but in it's place were a pair of soft petal-like lips on his. It was fast, too fast, and Ivar questioned if it even happened. Before he knew it, he was left moulded against the tree trunk, staring at the back of the giggling girl as she ran across the meadow and down the hill.

"Nice to meet you, Ivar!"

**— — —**

The journey home was even more exhausting than the journey up the hill. His muscles still ached from before, and on top of that, the wound on his shoulder added to the pain. It bled through his tunic, down to his clavicle and he could feel it sticking against his breast. By the time he reached Kattegat, his injured arm was on fire, but everything else was numbed in comparison. The sun had begun to set, and there were only a few people standing outside on the docks, mostly slaves and peasants doing their jobs. Ivar could see the orange light peaking through the door of the Hall, where he knew his mother would be sitting, waiting; worried. He was honestly surprised that she wasn't ripping and tearing down houses to find him.

Just as he was going to drag his body in that direction, a familiar voice stopped him.

"There you are," Floki appeared, and Ivar froze. Laying on his belly, the boy looked up at him, expecting him to have a furrowed brow and a lecture on his tongue. However, it was the opposite; Floki looked amused, his eyes kind yet twinkling in mischief as he squatted down next to him. "You surprise me, Ivar. I did not think a cripple would get too far if he were crawling on his belly."

Ivar rolled his eyes and groaned as he flopped on his back before sitting up, "Help me up, Floki."

In that moment, the older man had noticed the dark stain coming from his shoulder, and his amusement disappeared and changed to one of concern. "Who did that to you?"

The boy's nostrils flares before giving a pointed look at Floki and repeated a little forcefully, "Help me up."

He hesitated before relenting and taking the boy's good arm and hauling him onto his back. Ivar winced and gritted his teeth, but allowed him to carry him away from the longhouse, and into a separate shelter that was used as an infirmary for the common folk. Floki sat him down in a stool, and lit a lantern before going to work to prepare to mend the wound.

"Are you going to tell me what happened?" The viking asked, his back turned to the boy.

"I climbed a hill," His answer was laced with condescension, which didn't help it's verity.

"Did the hill attack you?" He turned around, grabbed the dagger from his hip and started to rip the seams of Ivar's tunic. Dry and fresh blood were painted all over his shoulder, but the wound looked like a puncture; round and slightly jagged. The perfect shape of the tip of an arrow. Taking a damp cloth soaked in ale, Floki went to work on cleaning the blood and disinfecting the wound.

Ivar winced and jerked back, glaring at Floki, "Ow!"

Floki tilted his head at him mockingly, "Oh, did that sting you? Do you need me to get Aslaug to come kiss it better?"

"No!"

"Then sit still, or you're going to make it worse for yourself."

Pouting, Ivar sat up straight, but kept the snarl on his face as his mentor proceeded in mending the wound. There was some silence between them, the only sound was Ivar's soft groaning as he attempted to suppress the pain between gritted teeth. Once Floki got out the needle and put it under the candle flame, Ivar briefly looked at him before caving.

"A girl kissed me," His eyes flickered away, almost embarrassed, especially under the circumstances.

Floki looked at him for a long second before returning his eyes to the flame, waiting for the needle to turn a bright red. "Did she change her mind, and try to stab you after?"

Ivar scoffed, "No. Her stupid arrow fell on me. She was in a tree."

Floki gave a giggle, and sat back down next to the pouting boy. The viking thoroughly enjoyed the irony of a boy glued to the floor like a snake, and a girl in a tree like a bird crossing paths like a cruel fate. "Hold still--" he took the needle and thread and made the first puncture into the flesh.

Ivar swore as he grit his teeth and tightened his fists. He mentally cursed the same girl in question, and Floki for mocking him, but he remained seated, patient, albeit flustered beyond measure.

"Did you enjoy it?" Floki asked, as he continued to stitch the wound.

Still in pain, Ivar spoke through his teeth. "I--do not...know! Ah!"

"Almost done--" The third stitch, and finally the fourth. He took the thread and cut it with his teeth, then tied it while he continued. "What do you mean, you do not know?"

Breathing hard, Ivar loosened his fists. "One minute, she was threatening to kill me, the next thing I know she had her lips on me, and ran away."

Floki gave another giggle and glanced at the boy as he cleaned up the rest of the blood. "Sounds like quite the woman. What is your future bride's name?"

Ivar tilted his head to look at his mentor with a utterly disgusted look, "I don't know, and she's not my bride!"

"Well, she certainly made an impression on you, my dear Ivar," He tossed the bloodied cloth and dumped it into the bucket of water.

"Only because of how annoying she was. Even her hair was annoying; bright red, like a ray of sun on your eye, coming through a crack in the wall while you try to sleep."

Floki paused for a moment, looking at the profile of his best friend's youngest son. His eyes flickered to the window and the door before taking a long cloth and started to bandage the boy's shoulder, "Red hair, you say?"

Ivar looked at him suspiciously before nodding, "Yes.... and green eyes. Do you know her?"

Floki paused again, just before tying the knot of the bandage. He was avoiding the boy's gaze, but he finally sighed and gently placed his hand on the boy's other shoulder. Floki brought his face close to his so his eyes leveled with the boy's, and his forehead nearly touching the other's as well. The action made Ivar's blood went slightly cold at the ominous aura that poured into the room the moment Floki drew serious.

"I do, my dear Ivar, and there is something that you must know," He gripped the boy's shoulder a little tighter, and his voice grew low and dark. "This red-haired girl you saw.... She will, one day, be the mother of your children."

Floki burst out in a fit of giggles as he pulled away from Ivar, who in turn began to punch him in the shoulder, screaming: "Shut up! I do not like her!"

* * *

  



	3. 2: the red woman

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Floki seeks advice from The Red Woman, a mysterious woman who lives in the forest outside of Kattegat. Ivar has a rocky reunion with the girl in the tree that ends in his favour this time.

  
  


The following day had come with a sore body, and a sore head. The cause of the latter was not from Floki, or his journey up the hill, but of his mother and the endless lecturing he had to endure when Floki carried him into his family's home.

She immediately fretted, especially when her eyes landed onto his bandaged up shoulder and his dirty state. Aslaug's immediate assumption was that he was kidnaped, and then beaten out of cruelty, but when the story was told to her (with the exclusion of the girl), the tone in his mother's voice changed. Aslaug then proceeded to berate her son over his carelessness; how he could have fallen down the hill and cracked his head, or if someone where to find him and kidnap him for a prince's ransom. Ivar merely half listened with a sunken head and a cold blue stare at the wall of the longhouse. What was worse still, he had to hear Sigurd's sniggers from the other side, followed by comments being made under his breath. It had ended up with Ivar launching himself at his insufferable older brother, and Floki holding him off.

Ivar was pulled away from the hall of the longhouse, and brought to a room adjacent to cool down. Floki left him and went to talk to his mother. About fifteen minutes later, Floki had a pleased smile on his face as he clasped his shoulder.

"Your mother has agreed it is time for you to train with your brothers,"

Ivar looked up, his sour expression disappeared to one of surprise, "She did?" It had been sometime since Aslaug had asked Floki to take him under his wing and make him viking, but it had not gone beyond the teachings of the gods. He told him stories and war strategies, and smithing techniques, but his mother was always apprehensive about him picking up an axe and sword and actually fighting.

"Yes, and we start tomorrow," Floki answered him as he went over to sit across from him.

"Why not today?" The boy asks with vigor. He made a movement to get off from his bench, but Floki stopped him.

"You body still aches from yesterday's journey; it is not wise for you to put more strain on your weak muscles at this moment, Ivar," When Floki finished explaining, the cripple rolled his eyes and let his shoulders sink.

"I am _fine,_ " he insisted.

"If you were fine you would not need me to carry you around Kattegat, little prince," Ivar's tone and expression was smug as he brought the horn of ale he held to his lips.

Ivar jutted his chin at him, "I don't _need_ you to carry me around. I am not a helpless babe."

Floki gave a small giggle before he decided to humour him. "Alright, Ivar, have it your way. You can come with me to see a friend of mine just outside of the city, but I do not want to hear you complain."

"I won't!" Ivar pulled himself off the bench and onto the floor with a wince that Floki saw, despite the boy's efforts to hide it.

They had moved out of the city without much word. Ivar was too busy trying not to make sounds over the strain and pain he was causing his body, namely his shoulder, from trying to keep up with Ivar's long strides. After a while, he took the dagger he had at his hip and started to penetrate the land to help him pull his body faster. Once the houses of Kattegat were behind him, and they were now trekking through the uneven ground of the forest, Ivar decided to speak.

"Who is this friend you are having me drag my body to see?" He was irritated as he was sweaty. The young viking was slowly regretting his decision.

Ivar's resilience was unwavering and Floki had took notice that without comment, but he knew that his act of starting conversation was an attempt to keep his mind off of the pains in his muscles. Alas, Floki humoured him by answering his question. "Her name is Hulda, and she is a Völva," he answered simply. When he did not hear Ivar's tell tale sounds of muffled grunts and his legs being dragged across dirt and rock, he looked over his shoulder.

The teenager had stopped and looked at Floki with wide eyes and an open mouth. "A Völva? Your friend is a witch?!"

Floki turned back around and continued walking, "Yes, she is. And it is within both our best interest for you to behave. You do not want to anger a Völva, as it is a direct disrespect to the gods."

After a moment of staring at his mentor's back, Ivar started moving again, but he wasn't finished with his questions. "What do the völvur have to do with the gods?"

Floki tisked him, "You have not been paying attention to the stories, Sweet Ivar. The völvur are allied with the fate goddesses, and so bestowed great powers by the goddess Freya, herself."

Ivar did not say a word for a long moment as he processed this information while simultaneously ignoring the ache in his joints. "What do you seek from this 'Hulda'?"

"We shall see once we get there," Floki answered cryptically.

They continued on for ten more minutes, up a hill and over rocks that looked like steps. He could hear the sound of running water from the river that flowed into the lake nearby, and that was when Floki announced that they had arrived. Ivar slowed to a halt once he looked up to see a peculiar little house nestled into the rock face under a precipice where a large oak tree sat. The tree's roots grew all around the house, over the ledge and disappeared into the earth. The little cottage itself had a roof of overgrown grass, which made it hard to see if you did not know it was there, nor if you didn't notice the depiction of three cats facing left, right and center carved into the wooden door.

Once they approached the house, Ivar took this moment to at last rest by hauling himself onto a large rock nearby. Floki paused in front of the structure, his eyes looking around the area, following up the roots of the oak tree and finally up to the branches. The shipwright squinted up into the sun to see a figure sitting up high in the large tree, which caused a smile to grace his face.

"Where is your mother, Kára?" When floki questioned the tree, Ivar gave him an odd look, and questioned possibly for the 100th time in his life the state of Floki's sanity.

Though a voice, distant from above, answered him, "By the river. She is waiting for you."

Ivar's face twisted in confusion, looking from Floki and up to the branches of the wide and tall oak tree, trying to identify who was speaking those words. He began to question his own sanity before Floki began to talk to the disembodied voice again.

"Would you keep my friend company?" The voice did not answer, but it must have responded nonverbally, since Floki seemed pleased as he turned around and walked towards the prince and patted him on the head. "Wait here."

"Let me come with you," Ivar insisted as he twisted his body to face him and simultaneously pulling away from the man's offending hand.

"Not now. I must go alone, but we will be back," was all he said before descending down the hill and disappearing out of view.

Ivar huffed and turned to look back at the house and up the tree, but could not see anything. After a few moments of silence, Ivar finally sighed and began to drag himself off the rock and closer to the house, where he had a better view of the branches that hung overhead. He squinted at the sunlight that peeked through the foliage, but he could clearly see a silhouette of a body, and a halo of orange-red hair that the sun shawn behind.

"It's you!"

**— — —**

Floki had made it down to the riverbed where it narrowed, and that was where he saw her, sitting on a fallen tree, bare feet bathing in the shallows of the moving water. She stuck out quite a bit; in a canvas of green and brown, she was a red flower in the center. The woman was clad in a burgundy robe, long enough to reach the water and soak the ends. Then there was her hair, longer than any woman Floki had seen before, and in colour it blended in with the robe itself. Her eyes, though, were the colour of the ocean after a storm; mournful and misty, as if she is always looking into the dreary past.

"It is good to see you, Floki," she said before she looked at him, but when she did those mournful eyes of her brightened with her smile. "It has been some time."

The shipwright sat next to her, crossing his leg over his knee and began to unlace his boot. "You knew I was coming?" He asked, repeating the same thing with his other boot.

"I knew you would, one day, as soon as you and Ragnar returned from Paris," she turned to look back at the river.

"So, you have heard of my failures?" Floki put his feet into the water next to her.

"The fates have told me, yes," she admitted and looked at him, and measured his profile. "I am sorry, Floki, of what happened to you and your daughter."

He breathed heavily through his nose as he looked down at his dirty fingernails, "I was not a good father. Perhaps that is why the gods are punishing me."

"Is that why you come to me? So you could find some kind of reasoning for your failures?"

At this he turned to her, "What did I do to anger the gods, Hulda? Everything I do, is to please them. I sacrificed that _christian_ for them, as they told me, and--"

"Floki," she stopped him, her eyes finding his and rendering him silent. "The reason for your failures is no curse, or punishment from the gods. It is consequence. You were not content in happiness, and you begun to find deeper meaning in things that were not there. You did not anger Odin, you angered your friends and family, and were punished by them for your mistakes." 

It was evident that the viking did not like this answer by the way his nose flared, and his muscles tensed under his skin. "And what of my Angrboda? Was I the one who created the fever that took her? Was she a consequence of my mistakes?"

Hulda sighed and returned her gaze to the water, and watched it move along the rocks like silk brought to life. "Your path to redemption has already been decided for you, but you must seek it in the shadows before you. You will not be able to see it until you make three ultimate sacrifices."

His eyes searched for her face and his mind stirred with eagerness. Floki's body turned so one of his feet were pulled out of the water in a jolt, so his body was now fully turned to her, "Who or what must be sacrificed? I will do anything to win the favour of the gods. _Anything._ "

The witch gave a mournful smile before shaking her head, "It is not that simple."

"Of course it isn't, but I am ready!"

He sounded much like the child he had brought with him; too eager to begin before he was ready, before he actually knew what it would take. Only Floki was no child, and Hulda was not going to speak to him in riddles like the Seer would. "Floki, you know more than anyone of my past, but you do not know how I became who you see in front of you. I was not always Wand Wed, and I cannot claim to have the years of experience as most of the völvur that travel this world have."

Floki remained silent, watching the muscles in her face soften and turn sorrowful under the weight of the memories that stirred behind those storm-ridden eyes of hers. His body began to ease and feel heavy, his feet returned to the water next to hers, and the coolness calmed his temper while her story filled his soul with sorrow.

"The gods had a plan for me; I was told that by the Seer when I was thirteen summers old. He said to me that I must suffer three times, but at the time I did not know what his riddle meant. Our Lady took three people from me: My twin sister, who was my soul. My first born son, who was my heart. And finally, my husband, who was my life. Three parts of me had to die, Floki, for me to be reborn. This, also, must happen to you."

**— — —**

The trek back to the little cottage was silent, until they begun up the stairs that lead to it. Hulda had not wavered as she looked forward, as if she knew of the disturbance before it happened, but Floki immediately looked up when he heard the yelling of arguing children.

The woman couldn't help but give a small, soft smile of knowing as she glanced at Floki, "Aslaug's youngest has made an impression on my daughter."

"Your daughter has made an impression on Aslaug's youngest," the man replied.

When they reached the clearing, the sight was not all that surprising but it was still alerting. Kára was seated upon the grass roof with a bow pointed at Ivar, who yelled and threatened her life while holding an axe over his head. Immediately, Floki marched over and wretched the weapon out from his hand and demanded to know what happened.

Ivar flushed as he jutted his finger at her, "she insulted me!"

Hulda looked up at the red-headed girl whose bow was now brought down, but she remained on the roof. "Kára, is this true?" The red-clad woman asked.

Kára stared at her mother like a deer in headlights. The older woman's face was moreorless expressionless, but the look in her eyes was reprimanding, and the girl knew better than to remain stubborn. "Maybe," ended up being her defiant answer.

Hulda sighed through her nose and beckoned her daughter to come down from the roof. She did so reluctantly, sliding off the edge, climbing ontop of a barrel and stepping down. Her feet, like her mother's were bare, but dirty with grass stains and callaused from climbing trees. With her bow still gripped in her hand, she marched to Hulda's side with a pout.

The red woman placed a hand on the little one's shoulder, "Kára, I am disappointed in you. He is your prince, and deserves your respect."

"That's right, you grizzly sow--" With a thwack, Floki hit the back of Ivar's head. Ivar turned to him with a glare, his hand up rubbing the sore spot.

"What have I told you, Ivar? Kára is the daughter of Hulda the Red, it is you, also, who must show respect."

The boy pouted and glared at the girl who, in turn, glared and pouted at him. Out of the four, it was Hulda who found the display amusing, for she knew better out of all of them. Her eyes shifted over to her daughter, who huffed and threw her head back in exasperation before taking a step forward and being the first to extend the olive branch.

"I apologize for calling you a teat-sucking babe," Kára tried to contain her eyeroll, but did not maintain eye contact. She looked at his forehead, instead of his eyes, and Ivar took notice.

Of course, Ivar was viking, and would not accept an apology for his wounded pride. Jutting his chin, at her, he demanded his legal right. "I do not accept your apology, grœnnfótr. I demand to have revenge," he tilted his head, quite pleased with himself.

"You can not be serious," she deadpanned, and looked up at Hulda for help.

"I'll allow it," Hulda replied, which earned a look of horror from her daughter.

"Mother!"

"There will be _no_ violence," she assured her, and then looked at Ivar. "Is that understood, little prince?"

The boy looked visibly disappointed; he wanted to maim the girl a little. Just a bit of the end of her nose, or maybe one of her green toes. He would have protest had it not been for Floki's warning look glowering down at him. Ivar nodded, and Hulda gave a soft smile at his compliance.

"You will receive a compensation, Ivar. What would you have from her?"

Ivar looked at the girl, who stood barefooted beside her mother, whose own bare tones peeked from under his robes. Kára's hair was thick and long, like the roots of the tree that framed the house, and her eyes were like seaweed piling up on the shore once the tide drew back into the ocean. Alas, if he could have anything from her, truly, it would be her legs. They were long and lean and the muscles in her calves and thighs were hard to miss. It was undoubtedly a product of her tree-climbing hobbies, which Ivar also envied her for. Unfortunately, her legs were not an option, but what she gripped in her hands in a vice was. Her bow was made of oak, likely of the same stock of the tree, and hand made. There were intricate designs along the limbs that reached to the grip, that was made of wrapped leather. It wasn't particularly impressive, and it was obviously made to be used for a child of their age, and probably for hunting. Not impressive, but it was also probably very important to her by the way she held onto it.

"I will have her bow," he said at last with a cheeky smile.

Her reaction was immediate, and exactly how Ivar had hoped it would be. She gripped her bow to her chest and looked mildly horrified as her pleading eyes looked up to her mother. "Mother, no! This is _my_ bow!"

"You should have thought that before you opened your mouth," Hulda's tone was reprimanding, a clue to them having this conversation before.

"But I've spent a fortnight making it!" It was obvious in the desperation in the girl's voice that it was her most prized possession. She had made it with a fallen branch of this very oak tree. In the curved structure, Kára saw the limbs of a bow and was inspired to construct it in memory of her father who was a smith, carpenter, and an inventor. When she had completed it, she could feel the kiss of his breath as he whispered his approval and pride in his daughter for creating it. And now it was going into the hands of a spoiled prince.

"You could make another one," Hulda extended her hand, palm up, and waited for the bow to be placed in it.

Kára gripped harder on it, keeping it close to her chest, and then glowered at Ivar. However, her mother's gaze was burning on the top of her head, and when she met them, they were just as intimidating as they have ever been. It took great personal strength to pull the bow from her breast and put it into Hulda's palm, but as soon as it was done, Kára had took off. Her long legs lept over a boulder and her hands caught on a low-hanging branch where she swung into the woods and out of sight.

Floki made a go at trying to get to her before she had gone out of sight, but Hulda had held up a halting hand as a sign to not bother. The woman then walked up to Ivar, who sat upon a rock still, his head turned in the direction of where Kára had run off to.

"Ivar," the woman's voice brought his attention back; she was kneeling beside him and holding out the bow. He had not gotten a good look of this woman until now, and he found himself awestruck by the magic that pulsated from her aura. In a sea of burgundy, her navy blue eyes pulled him into a false sense of security. 

He felt safe, but at the very same time, in mortal danger. 

"If you take good care of this bow, little prince, you will find yourself with good fortune and much, much more." 

* * *

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before writing this series, I did a lot of research on the völvur. A Völva is a witch (plural: völvur), but the word translates to "wand wed". They were also considered priestesses to Freya, and were the midgard representatives of the goddess. They weren't ostracized like they were in Christian cultures. Being a Völva made you highly respected and people would come to you for wisdom, healing, and other things pertaining to magic and the gods, especially in times of crisis, like a war, famine, or plague, etc. The völvur were often travellers, moving from one estate to another, and when they arrive, they were given the seat of the head of the house, like an earl. They were usually elderly women, who had forsaken family and home to becoming a Völva. 
> 
> This is like the Seer (who was originally supposed to be a woman), in a way, but since he is a man and is a leper, he's slightly outcasted. For Hulda, she is not an old witch, which she says in this chapter. She started her journey when her husband had died, and nine months later she gave birth to her daughter, so she has a long ways to go. She has a journey she goes through in the story in order to become what she needs to be. So, yes, I am aware that generally witches in the viking age were elderly women who gave up all family ties, for those of you who want to point out that inaccuracy. Hulda is by no means as experienced as the Seer, but her character develops over time, and it involves her daughter. Additionally, though, witches weren't celibate; generally the younger ones often enchanted men into their beds, and practice sexual magics. That is what Lagertha claimed Aslaug had done with Ragnar; which I've always had a problem with, because that scene insinuates that the vikings didn't like witches as much as Christians? When it's the complete opposite. 
> 
> Anyway, I rambled a bit. I just wanted to clarify that for anyone who wants to know, and to show I'm not talking out of my ass about it XD I invite you all to do some research about this yourselves, because it's quite interesting, not to mention it's a healthy habit to always fact check something someone said on the internet.


	4. 3: the man in the wood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kara runs into the forest and encounters a familiar stranger, who knows a lot about the father she never met.

  


Kára's feet had taken her farther than she anticipated. It wasn't until she found herself in a clearing with a seemingly abandoned house, that she realized she was still barefooted. The soles of her feet were on fire, and she was fairly certain that she had a few cuts here and there from stepping on thorns and sharp rocks. This wasn't new, though; her feet were often the victims of such treatment. Kára didn't like boots, they made her toes squish together and left little grip for her when she climbed trees. However, she admitted that boots and shoes had their perks... for one thing, her feet wouldn't be as sore as they were now had she been wearing a pair.

The girl sat on an old chopping block so she could pull up her foot over her knee to have a better look at the blisters on her pads. It took her a few seconds to realize that there was freshly chopped wood sitting next to her, which meant that the house she stopped at was _not_ abandoned. Before she could react, the door opened, and in a quick motion she stood and turned, brandishing her worn down tagger from her belt.

Standing in the doorway, looking both curious and perplexed by the green-footed girl wielding a 5 inch dagger was none other than her King, Ragnar Lothbrok. His eyes were wide and bloodshot, and his lips were chapped and bleeding. If she had not known who he was, Kára would have assumed he was a berserker, at how feral and unhinged he seemed. Alas, it was no secret that Ragnar had been slowly slipping into madness ever since his return from Paris with defeat on his shoulders.

"Have you come to kill me, little girl?" He looked amused as he examined her from foot to head. The sight of her hair under the early spring sun had nearly blinded him; it lit a fiery hue that made him immediately know who's child stood before him. There were very, very few who were born with red hair in Kattegat, and even less children. "You are Kára Ulfsdóttir, am I correct?"

_Ulfsdóttir..._

Kára had not heard that in a long time. It was as if calling her, her father's daughter was a great shame that she may grow offense to. Or perhaps her mother was a greater name than her father's. Either way, Kára was seldom called Ulfsdóttir.

She had not sheathed her dagger, but her grip had loosened a fraction as she regarded Ragnar with a curious yet cautious stare. "You knew my father?"

"I knew him, yes," Ragnar continued to openly stare at the girl, examining her face and features, trying to place his pictures to a long distant memory that he had lost in the whirlwinds of his mind. The fate of Ulf was not an easily forgotten story by those who knew him, especially for those present during the time before Ragnar had been king. He might have not known Ulf on a personal level, but Ragnar respected him as a viking and a man. This respect grew since Ulf had joined him, Floki, Rollo and the others on their journey to the new world.

"He sailed west with us, a long time ago."

Kára knew the story as well as any danish child did; it was what made Ragnar Lothbrok a living legend, and had changed the fates of their people forever. What she did not know, however, was her father being there as well. "My mother never told me," she found herself saying out loud, opening up to how little she knew of her father. She did not even see his face, being that he died before he knew she was inside her mother's womb. "She never told me anything about him."

Ragnar saw how her arm that wielded the dagger became slacken once her guard began to fray. He took this moment to move from the archway and inch closer to her, though kept a safe enough distance not to alert her any further. She was aware of his movement, he could see that by the twitch of her knuckles around the hilt of the dagger. At least she was not stupid enough to let her guard completely down around strangers.

"What has she told you about him?" He asked, leaning against a yard away from her.

"That he was talented," she answered, a strain visible on her face as she struggled to admit the last thing. "And he killed himself."

"Is that all?"

She sent him a glare, "That is all."

The king had very few moments with Ulf himself, though he understood him more than most. He knew he was talented; a carpenter, a smith, an inventor. Many thought he was mad at the ideas he would come up with and attempt to make, but he was more gifted than most men. His fingers were magical, even when carving a piece of wood he would produce a intricate masterpiece that many would pay gold for. It was probably what drew a woman like Hulda to him. Ragnar couldn't help but wonder if his daughter was anything like the both of them, but so far what he had seen, she was vastly different. She had her mother's face, but her father's eyes, and yet she was wild like an orphan child who had been raised by wolves. Even her hair was not like Hulda's, which was rich like dark berries, yet her daughter's was more like a raging fire. Kára knew how to handle herself, which could not have been learned from her mother. Hulda was never a shieldmaiden, and ever since her daughter was born she had become a recluse. So it was fascinating how her daughter had somehow had an inborn ability to know how to properly hold a weapon, let alone have the bravery to fend for herself in the wild. Ragnar couldn't help but wonder what his ex wife would have thought of a girl like her... surely she would be intrigued and would be willing to adopt her so she could train her to be a shieldmaiden with a prowess like herself.

"What are you doing out here, little one? You are a league away from home," The king asked, putting their previous conversation in the past, but not forgetting it.

The question, though, seemed to light a spark under her ass once more, because she turned her body around on the block and glared at him more fiercely, as if he was the source of her problems. In a way, he was.

"I am here, because your _son_ is a prick!"

The corner of his lips twitched, aware of the answer but asked anyway, "Which one?"

"The cripple!"

Of course it was Ivar; he could deal with Ubbe, Hvitserk, or even Sigurd getting into trouble. They were typical youthful men, and still did boyish things for attention. Easy to discipline, easy to understand. But his youngest was different than the others; he could not touch him. He was more his mother's son than his own, and Ragnar was partially to blame for it. His mind wandered to the many ways that Ivar the Boneless could have tormented this girl; was she a friend to the boy he killed a few years ago? Did he steal her shoes? Did he make fun of her father? Ragnar did not wait long for an answer, as his silence invited her to speak more.

"He took my bow,"

Yes, this surprised him quite a bit, because it was probably the littlest problem Ivar could have made. It made Ragnar give a crack of a smile; there was something comforting about the fact that Ivar was normal enough to get in trouble for something a normal boy his age would get into trouble for.

"He stole your bow?"

Her face twisted as she became conflicted with herself, "No, not really. It was a price... I insulted him, and he demanded compensation."

Ragnar's brow raised a bit at her openly admitting to her own fault, which was an admirable trait. Honesty was highly valued among their people, but of recent years he had seen the steady decline of that honoured quality. Every generation, children have grown more secretive and more dishonest, valuing fame and fortune thanks to their ambitious fathers. Ragnar happened to be one of those fathers, but he would not admit to that, not now, not yet.

Wanting to test how far she would be willing to admit the truth, he probed her further, "What did you say to him?"

Kára did not know what Ragnar's relationship was with Ivar. She knew that the repercussions of her words would have been greater had the Queen been the one asking her this question, but the King? He was a man of a different mind. Kára did not know much of him, but she knew that he was a reasonable man, if not a bit off his rocker in his later years. Not to mention, it was a crime punishable if she lied right to the face of her king, a fate worse than insulting his least favourite son.

"He said that it was no wonder I looked so unruly, since I lived in a tree and had no father to discipline me," Ragnar noticed how her eyes casted down to the ground, her fingers fiddling with the leather handle of the dagger she still held. If it wasn't evident before from their previous chat, it was now blatantly obvious that the topic of a father, or a father figure, was a sensitive one to the small redhead. Her shoulders squared as he watched in fascination of her summoning up the bravery to stare back into his eyes, "So I said that it was better than being a teat-sucking babe of twelve winters."

The king could not hold back the shine of his teeth as his lips stretched into a smile. He knew that it was nothing to laugh at-- he had told Aslaug many times that Ivar should have not been nursed for as long as he was. It was unnatural and would only ensure his reliance on her. Thankfully, it had ceased once Ivar turned ten years, but that was not long ago. He had hoped that no one would know of this, but it seemed to somehow reach some ears. Hopefully by rumour and not fact. Ragnar turned his head, ashamed at his own amusement and hid his grin behind a closed hand.

His eyes returned to Kára, who looked away as she also tried to hide her tiny smile. It seemed her only regret was being caught and being punished for it. The girl reminded him of Ivar in a strange way; not of what was wrong with him -- his many ill behaviours that resulted in poor parenting -- but what made him affable. Defiant, cheeky, headstrong, and clever. Naturally, because of this, Kára and Ivar would continue to but heads like two territorial rams.

Ragnar slid down onto the floor, and sat with his back against the trunk of the tree. He lifted his leg to rest an arm over his knee and then leaned his head back against the bark behind him. "This bow was important to you. Or else you would not have run away in despair," he stated matter of factly.

Kára found herself sliding off the chopping block and onto the ground as well, but she folded her legs with a foot lifted to rest on her thigh. Her fingers began to massage her toes and press against the bulging blisters she had on the balls of her feet. "I made it," she replied with a soft voice. "It was like my father's hands were guiding mine. It's the only thing I have that is remotely close to his."

"Your mother doesn't have any of his work?" She shook her head, and Ragnar frowned. "Why is that?"

Kára's brow furrowed as she paused in both thought and frustration, "She once told me that the last part of her died when he died, and it was when I was born that she was reborn as well. In order to become what she was destined to be, she had to forsake all from her last life."

Something in those words made Ragnar's skin ripple in goosebumps, and all hair stood on end. He pulled his head from the tree trunk and pulled up his other knee to rest his other arm. Blue orbs moved all around the clearing, from the sky, to the cottage he found himself at more often than his own home, with the company of a slave who he knew very little. It was as if he was trying to live another life that was not his; escaping to worlds vastly different than his own with the help of Yidu and her medicine.

At last his eyes rested on Kára, who had not looked up at him yet; her own gaze was still glued to the sole of her foot. "I have something that your father made," he found himself saying out of the blue. "He gave it to me when I became Earl of Kattegat."

This had brought her gaze to him, wide eyed and hopeful. She opened her mouth, then closed it for a moment, then finally asked if she could see it.

"It is back at the longhouse," he replied, and took notice to her visible disappointment.

She nodded and sunk back into her spot on the floor and went back to picking at her toes. Her mind began to wonder to questions about the man who sat in front of her. King Ragnar Lothbrok; the farmer who made himself king. He was her people's hero, his name stretching far across Norway, Denmark, and Sweden. Yet there he sat, at the base of the tree, looking twice as old as his real age, and his eyes looked more dead than his body. Kára bit her lip and looked back at the old cabin that he came from and then back at the king. "You are avoiding home," she pointed out boldly.

Ragnar had slipped into his own thoughts as well, but they had brought him to nostalgia, which proved to be both a poison and a remedy for his clouded and sick mind. When she spoke, he almost thought her voice was the whisper of his conscious,, but eventually he remembered he was not alone, so he moved his head slowly to her. "What makes you say that?"

"You are never seen in the city," She gave a slight shrug, as if it was an obvious statement. "And if this is where you are when you are not with your family, then it is because you're avoiding them."

"You sound like your mother," he leaned his head back against the tree again, his eyes darting off to the clouds.

"You've talked to her?"

"No,"

"Than how do you know I sound like her?"

Ragnar lulled his head to the side and stared at Kára with that same disconnected stare he seemed to always have. It was both penetrating in a way that he could peer into her own soul, but at the very same time they seemed disengaged from his mind, from reality. Ragnar never formally spoke to Hulda, especially not after she became Wand Wed. Between the Seer and his wife, he already had enough magical beings telling him about his fate. Though all women tended to sound the same, especially those with gifts bestowed to them by Freya.

"All women are the same," he repeated his thoughts.

Kára gave him a wooden stare, "You mean we all sound right?"

It was Ragnar's turn to give her a wooden stare as well, this time with a show of teeth as he mocked her, "Shouldn't you be on your way home?"

"I don't want to go home," she admitted, pulling up her knees to her chest.

"Then it sounds like the both of us are avoiding it."

Silence befell on them both as they stared at something unrelated to the other. Kára looked at the dirt of her toes, where the grass stains collected around her cuticles and under the nail, and Ragnar stared at the door of the little cabin, where Yidu was sleeping under some furs. She usually found him gone by the time she woke up, but where he was, wasn't far away, nor was it in Kattegat. He would always come back, if only for the medicine she provided, and a bed that wasn't his marriage.

Suddenly Ragnar heard a guttural sound coming from the girl, which made him turn at her with curiosity. A red flush graced her face as she hugged her legs closer to her stomach, then she responded pitifully, "I'm hungry."

**— — —**

Ivar and Floki had returned to Kattegat not long after the incident with Hulda's daughter. The trek home was silent as he rode on the back of his mentor, which made Ivar wonder if Floki was upset with him. What happened wasn't Ivar's fault, it was Kára's. She shouldn't have insulted her prince. Not to mention she had not even apologized for hitting his shoulder with her arrowhead initially. Or...Or the confusing, uninvited, chapped-lipped kiss.

By the time they reached the longhouse, Ivar had gotten himself in a sour mood, which only intensified when his stomach gave a growl indicating its emptiness. Floki silently walked into the great hall and allowed the boy to slide off his shoulders and onto a bench next to his brothers who all waited patiently for a meal to be provided. Without a word, the viking had left them and into the other room that hid behind a brown pelt.

"Where have you been all day?" Sigurd asked, eyeing his least preferred brother with a suspicious gaze.

Ivar was handed a horn of weak ale by Ubbe as he casted Sigurd a smug smile, "Floki took me to see a Völva." Once he had processed the information given to him by his mentor and finally met the woman, Ivar was all too willing to bless in the privilege of being able to talk to her, and receive something from her. The bow was still strapped to his back with the utmost of pride, and he had no intention of removing it.

"The one by the river? Hulda Rauða?" Sigurd squinted at him in disbelief.

"So you know her?" Ivar picked up his horn as he grinned at his brother. "She gifted me this bow herself. Said that if I kept good care of it... it will bring me fortune and fame."

Sigurd snorted, but Ubbe seemed more or less intrigued by the story, his eyes looking over at the bow and examined it. "It must have been made by her husband," he mused, admiring the design along the limbs.

Ivar knew that wasn't true, but the mention of a husband caused him to pause before taking a sip of his ale. He looked at Ubbe, "I saw no husband. Floki says that the völvur are Wand Wed and do not have husbands."

Hvitserk was the one to speak, "I remember her. She was married to that smith. What was his name, Ubbe?"

"Ulf," The eldest brother answered. "I remember him as well. They had a son together, did they not?"

"And a daughter," Ivar added without realizing it. All three brothers turned to him with a collectively odd look.

"I don't remember a daughter," Hvitserk sat up in his seat as he tried to think of any fleeting memory of a girl.

"She can't be much older than Ivar," Ubbe commented. "Ulf died the winter of the year that you were born."

"How did he die?" Ivar found himself asking.

"The same way Siggy died," Sigurd replied a little forcefully. "He drowned in a frozen lake."

"What are you all talking about?" Four heads turned to see that their mother had appeared from the room adjacent. Aslaug seemed fairly unfazed, but her eyes always held that glint of all knowing, much like Hulda's, but more intimidating because she _was_ their mother.

Ubbe opened his mouth, feeling some obligation in admitting their topic of choice, but his saving grace came in the form of servants coming into the longhouse with plates of steaming food. "Finally!" He called out, arms extended in happiness.

Aslaug sat down at the table across from Ivar and next to Sigurd. Floki had reappeared alongside Helga, who had been with the queen all day. The two sat on the other side, shoulder to shoulder as the food was put on the table in front of them. It was a meal fit enough for their small company, though greater than many meals served in many households. Rabbit stew was served in wooden bowls, accompanied by fresh bread, dried fruits, and at last a platter of salted pork and cheese.

"Is father joining us?" Hvitserk asked as he looked over at his mother.

Her eyes were casted downwards at her bowl of stew for a long moment, not answering out of the pain of the topic. Ragnar had not joined them in nattmal for so many nights, that Aslaug had lost hope in waiting for him to sit with the family and eat with them. She gave a tight-lip smile at her son before stating simply, "I do not know."

Floki shared a look with Helga, but said nothing as he shoveled his bread into the stew and shoved it into his mouth. It was true, Ragnar had become not the man that he knew, and after the events of Paris, he did not know if he wanted to learn of this new Ragnar. No, that was a lie, Floki loved his friend dearly, as much as anyone, but he could not erase the past and the rift that has been made in their friendship. Helga knew better than anyone what her husband's true feelings were; she knew he mourned for what he and Ragnar used to be. Many times had their love for each other has been tested by their enemies, but in the end it was their own prides and mistakes that tested their bonds greater than any other threat.

As if the wind had carried his name through the crack of the door and called out to him, Ragnar Lothbrok, himself, appeared at the entrance. The door opened with a kick and a bang, and the tall figure entered with something propped on his shoulders. All of their collective stares were ones of surprise, but for some it was mixed with other emotions. For Aslaug it was both confusion and resentment; for Floki it was intense curiosity; for Ivar it was shock, not because of his father, but because of who he was carrying on his back.

* * *

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So for those of you who don't know, most people back then only had two meals a deal. In viking/northern culture, they called dinner nattmal and they called breakfast dagmal. I'm trying to use the correct words for specific things, just to add an element of realism, I suppose? Hope that makes sense, haha.


	5. 4: the optic battle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kara is invited to have dinner at the Lothbroks, which becomes both informative and awkward all at the same time.

  
  


Aslaug watched with intense scrutiny as her estranged husband walked into the hall with a child on his back. Once the king reached the table, the girl slid off him and on her feet in a swift movement, then casted a quick glance around the table before lingering on her son, Ivar, and then finally landing on Floki with a tight lipped smile. The queen's eyes narrowed at the girl before moving her leer towards Ragnar.

"You've brought a guest to our table," she stated, but it came out as an accusation, one that she was not thrilled about. Ragnar had been not himself and he had been even less interested in their marriage ever since Ivar was born (However, it became worse after the incident with Siggy), which made everything he did questionable. Ever since he returned from Paris, he had been a complete stranger, and not to mention Aslaug was aware of the absence of her exotic slave she had bought months ago. The slave's relationship with the King of the Danes was also not lost on Aslaug. However, Ragnar knew better enough not to bring his lovers or other unwanted company to the table. For him to bring what appeared to be an orphan child into their home made Aslaug suspicious and on edge, especially since the appearance of this girl unnerved her in a way she could not explain. Her familiar yet unfamiliar face put a bad taste in the Queen's mouth, like a bitter memory that she had tried to suppress for years emerging from the depths of her mind.

"I did," Ragnar looked at his wife with a wide-eyed challenging look that seemed so much more daunting now that there was no affinity in it.

Floki moved his eyes from his long lost friend and then rested on the girl who seemed to have moved her glare back at Ivar, who in turn, glared back. The boy's grip tightened over the string that slung over his shoulder, which pulled the limbs of the bow closer to his body.

"Kára, shouldn't you be home with your mother?" Floki asks the girl, low enough to make this exchange between them both, but Aslaug's keen ear heard every word.

"You know this girl, Floki?" The woman asked, her sharp eyes moved from her husband down the table to the shipwright.

Floki, looking like he had been caught when his fingers in the honey pot, turned to the queen and gave a brief nod. "I do," he said, his eyes moving from Aslaug to Ivar. The air was thick with awkwardness, one that not even Helga was immune to. The woman sat nervously next to her husband, playing with the hem of her sleeves, watching Floki intently, waiting with baited breath for his full response.

Deciding to play it safe, Floki merely replied with the truth, but not the entire truth. "She is the daughter of a friend."

"Her name is Kára Ulfsdóttir," Ragnar opened his mouth without care, and then moved to the head of the table. Floki sighed through his mouth and shut his eyes at his friend's brazen admission.

Ragnar's fingers brushed against the back of Kára's shoulder, indicating for her to follow him. She did so reluctantly, as well as regretting her decision to allow Ragnar invite her to supe with him. Every pair of eyes followed her as she tailed the king to the head of the table.

Aslaug's eyes seemed to shift from one of suspicion to one of genuine surprise and slight fear, but only for a second. Her eyes followed the girl acutely; the closer the girl came to passing by her, the more the candlelight glowed against her features and it at last dawned on the queen by the vibrancy of the girl's hair, who she was.

A servant had pulled a chair up to the head of the table for Ragnar to sit, but Kára had remained just behind his shoulder in the light of the Queen's open stare.

"You are... Hulda's child?" Aslaug asked out loud, her words coming out unsure of her eyes and ears.

The girl opened her mouth, but it was Ragnar who had answered for her. "Yes," he rolled his head to rear his gaze back to his wife. "Is that a problem, wife of mine?"

Kára's eyes flickered to Ragnar and then to Aslaug who seemed to be avoiding something; like the faces of the past that now turned their scrutinizing gaze in her direction. Even the sons of Ragnar seemed utterly confused and tense, sitting there at the table with spoons halfway to their lips, and their collection of blue orbs darting between each parent. Floki and Helga merely remained at the side lines, silent and contemplating swallowing their meals whole and dashing out of the Longhouse.

Both king and queen were tangled in a silent duel; their eyes sharp and blue, but under the hearth light, they both danced with yellow sparks. Aslaug was the first to pull away to look at Kára, her eyes turning kind and a smile gracing her face, but it seemed almost forced in a way that did not seem characteristic to Aslaug.

"You are most welcome at our table, Kára Ulfsdóttir."

Kára bowed her head, "Thank you, my queen."

Satisfied, Ragnar turned to his right, and told his sons to move over, they obliged with some hesitance, especially from Ivar. Once the move was made, Kára eased herself in the spot next to Ragnar, across from Aslaug and next to Ivar. Before she could even help herself to the food, it was the king who served her plate, giving her a generous portion of stew into her bowl before he served himself. This action, of course, had not gone unnoticed by the members of his family and friends who sat beside him, but for Kára it just seemed unnecessary. She did not need a parental figure to serve her food, especially one that was not her father.

"Kára, I believe you have not met my sons," the king began, as he then moved to his plate. "Ubbe, Hvitserk, and Sigurd. Ivar," he paused and looked at the son in question. "You already know."

Aslaug had not touched her plate since the arrival of Ragnar, but it was now that she felt her nails sink into a bread roll, while imagining it was something else. Her eyes lifted up from the torn loaf and onto her youngest son and the girl who sat beside him. "You've two met before?"

"Floki took me to see the Red Woman," Ivar answered without raising his eyes from his stew.

"She gave him that bow!" Hvitserk was one to speak after, motioning over to the weapon that his brother still carried. The poor middle child was oblivious to the topic being the most awkward of them all, for only four who sat at the table knew the truth of what conspired behind it, and those four knew better than to speak of the actual reason how Ivar obtained it. It would spare humiliation for Ivar, as well as possible consequences for Kára by the hands of Queen Aslaug.

Kára's knuckles went white as it gripped the horn of warm mead in her hand; she had to hold back every muscle in her body, including her tongue, from reacting or saying anything about it. It wasn't her house, it wasn't her family, and to top it all off, she was seated next to a king, his queen, his sons, and old, respected friends. Out of all who sat at this cursed table, it was Floki and Helga who she was more familiar with. The couple had remained friends to Hulda, while the rest of the village accepted her isolation and only came to her in times of need and not for social visits. Instinctively, Kára looked up at the shipwright for some kind of help, if he could provide anything.

"That was very kind of her," Aslaug commented through her teeth.

"It _is_ a special gift," Floki finally spoke, having caught Kára's pleading gaze. "Though, the table is no place for weapons."

"But I was told to keep it safe," Ivar protested, his fingers curling around his prize. Kára, of course, noticed this and also noted his words with curiosity.

"Floki is right," Aslaug added sweetly, looking at her son adoringly. "It would be just as safe in your room."

Ivar rolled his eyes in defeat, but did not protest any longer. He rolled his head under the string and gave the bow to an awaiting servant, who promptly took it to the boy's room. Once it was gone, he planted his elbows on the table and resumed consuming what was on his plate. Beside him, Kára's muscles remained tense, but at least her fists had become loosened and she was willing to open her mouth to shove food inside it without making some comment about Ivar.

Silence unfolded amongst the company, save for the sounds of slurps, and wooden plates and bowls hitting the table. Kára found comfort in this, since she had grown tired of optical challenges across tables and unheard conversations spoken through glance, and glares. It seemed that was where most of the unbearable tension had truly stemmed from. With everyone so engrossed in their food, it was evident that all those at the table were aware of how uncomfortable they all were at that moment.

The quiet did not last forever, though; Aslaug had finished her bowl of stew and found herself looking at the girl across from her, allowing her mind to reel on about how much Kára looked like _her._ Except for her eyes... she had her father's eyes, if the queen could recall. What sat across from her was an opportunity to open up old wounds, or peer into friendship she once had a decade ago. Either way, it would be painful, but there would be more harm allowing sore wounds to fester.

"How's your mother, Kára?"

The girl had paused, caught off guard by the sudden talking as well as it being addressed to her. Slowly, she swallowed the potato in her mouth before she answered, "She is well."

"That is good."

The redhead licked her bottom lip and reached for her horn of mead, but before she could take a sip, she found herself asking: "Queen Aslaug, I hope you don't mind me asking: how do you know my mother?"

The vibe shifted a bit in the Longhouse following that question; eyes now raised from their food and found themselves darting between faces once more. Even Ivar peaked over his bread to look at his mother, his attention showing his interest in the answer as well.

Aslaug smiled at the girl's innocent question, "We were very close, when we were girls," she answered, and found herself staring at her fingers. "It was me, Hulda, and her sister, Sigrún. Their mother was my foster mother, so I lived with them as if they were my sisters. My parents died before I knew them properly, so they were all the family I had and knew. But, we grew older and were lead to separate paths. But fates did not keep us apart for long, for when I came to Kattegat, pregnant with Ubbe, I was reunited with Hulda."

Kára had listened intently, having forgotten that she and Aslaug weren't alone at the table. It wasn't often that Kára heard stories of her mother's past, especially since Hulda refused to talk about it. Even from Ragnar, what he knew about Ulf, albeit little, earned her undivided attention. "Mother never told me that," Kára found herself saying out loud. "She's never talked about her sister, or you, or... anyone."

Ivar couldn't help himself but to look at the girl sitting next to him with some interest. He, himself, didn't know this tidbit about his mother's past either. He doubted that his brothers knew, since it was Ivar who spent the most time with Aslaug. He's heard stories of his grandparents, and the game of wits that she and Ragnar played the day they've met, but she had never talked about her life as a foster child, or how she was once friends with a witch. It did surprise him that his brothers knew of Hulda before him, but perhaps it was because they were older than him, and well, were not bound to the Longhouse and the hip of their mother. In light of this new information, though, it seemed that Kára was no different to Ivar in that regard. She was bound to that house in the woods, bound to the hip of her mother, and completely, utterly isolated from everyone. At least Ivar had his brothers, had servants, had friends like Floki, and even had a father. Kára had no one other than Hulda. The mention of the Red Woman's sister was also curious, but judging on how his mother had stated she was only reunited with Hulda meant that something happened with the other.

"What happened to Sigrún?" Ivar asked suddenly.

Aslaug's attention went from Kára to her son, and opened her mouth to speak, but Ragnar had interrupted crudely. The king made a loud slurping noise as he brought the bowl to his lips and drained the gravy and broth, and then put down the bowl before he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. Everyone looked at him, though he didn't seem to notice until he reached across the table to snag a piece of cheese from the platter, blinking in surprise once he realized everyone's eyes were on him. Ragnar pulled back and rested back in his chair, content on eating his cheese and zoning out once more.

Aslaug returned her attention back to Ivar, ignoring the interruption and putting on a sad smile. "She died in battle a long time ago," was her simple answer. "That was all I was told."

"At least she died an honourable death," Ubbe spoke his opinion, earning a small smile from his mother, and a side glance from the redheaded girl. "Was she a shieldmaiden, like Lagertha?"

Kára, still silent, moved her head from Ubbe towards the queen, awaiting the answer. The woman nodded, "She was, and a very exceptional one. When we were girls, she defended Hulda and I from a dangerous man who wished to do monstrous things to us." Aslaug took a moment to cast her eyes to her fiddling fingers. "Unfortunately, Sigrún died much too young. I believe she must have been just a few years older than you, Ubbe."

"Do you think she was reincarnated as a valkyrie?" Finally Kára had spoke, and her question had caused everyone to pause what they ate and looked expectedly at Aslaug. Ragnar instead kept a leveled, dilated stare at Kára as she spoke these words. His eyes seemed to glaze over as he drifted off to a distant memory, only to be snapped back into reality when his wife began to speak.

"Well," Aslaug placed her arms crossed in front of her as she bowed her head to look at the little one. "That is a question only the gods could answer. If there is anyone on midgard that would know, it would be your mother."

The redhead gave a hard roll of her eyes, "My mother won't tell me shit."

There was a chorus of sniggers across the table due to the girl's foul language, all except for the older women of the table. Helga held her hand over her mouth, but Aslaug seemed less than amused by the vulgar tongue. Alas, Ivar was the who laughed the loudest, and seeing a smile on her youngest face was enough for the Queen not to fuss over it. Well, that, and she could not berate a daughter of Hulda, knowing the possible ramifications.

**— — —**

Aslaug remained in the great hall that night, sitting upon her throne and holding a horn of mead in her hand. Her eyes stared unblinkingly into the hearth before her, her ears only paying attention to the crackles of the wood. She did not hear Ragnar sit next to her in his own throne, but it didn't startle her, nor was she unaware of his presence. After nattmal that night, the children had remained at the table playing tafl until one by one they began to tire. Once Ubbe had left to his shared bed with his brothers, the only two that were left were Ivar and Kára, who stubbornly played until there was a loser. They both dozed off on the table before one was declared.

Once their eyes flickered closed, Ragnar pulled himself off from his spot on the floor next to the hearth and gently picked up Ivar, which had surprised Aslaug. Her husband rarely touched their youngest son, possibly out of guilt or disgust for what he was, what he was born to be, all because Ragnar did not heed her warning that night they conceived him. His efforts of trying to be a father towards Ivar were a vain attempt in moulding the boy into something that Ragnar wanted him to be, but the child was incapable of being. The simple gesture of lifting him was innocent and normal, despite Ivar being larger than he was even a year ago. Aslaug felt a ghost of a smile graced her lips as she observed this rare and sweet sight, only for it to disappear the moment that Ragnar used his other arm to scoop up the girl as well by the waist, and held her high enough that her bare feet did not touch the floor. Ragnar then carried the two into Ivar's room behind the fur barrier.

"Why did you bring her here, Ragnar?" Aslaug's voice was almost a whisper, enough for it to be almost unnoticeable, but the viking heard it over the sound of the crackling fire.

"She was hungry," his voice match hers in volume, but was coarser.

The woman scoffed and tore her head away from the fire to look at her husband, "You did it on purpose."

Ragnar didn't look at her, but instead at his dirty fingernails. He had a little smile on his bearded face, then let out a soft laugh. "Not everything I do, is to annoy you, wife of mine. Besides," he rolled his head to finally meet her fiery gaze. "You seemed to like her."

Aslaug curled her lip and looked away from Ragnar, not willing to respond to his patronizing. Her fingers curled around the horn in her hand, as well as into the wood of the arm rest. The fire continued to dance in front of her, but Aslaug's attention was no longer on the orange flames, now that it reminded her of the girl in question. Kára was just a child -- she probably hadn't bled yet -- but still, when Aslaug looks at her all she sees is a ghost. A vengeful ghost in flesh and bone, sent here by the witch her birthed her in a ceremony of fire, blood and shadow.

"And our son seems to like her as well."

This statement was enough for Aslaug to spring back to life and whip her head to him, eyes lit, heart fluttering. Ragnar sat there, smug and nonchalant all at once, lounging in his throne as if it was a pile of furs and feather pillows. This man was as manipulative and cunning as a snake, and knew every word to get under her skin. His eyes may speak of the madness leaking from his mind, but this hollow body of Ragnar Lothbrok still had his tongue and mouth.

"Which son?" She dreaded the answer before he spoke the name.

"Ivar," he stated transparently. "He fights with her, but I've noticed how he looked at her while they played. He is curious of her, and one day that curiosity will turn into something else."

"You don't know my son, like I do, Ragnar....He is just a boy, and he has no interest--"

"He is a man now, Aslaug. I know men more than you know _your_ son. He will want another woman in his life that is not his mother, and you will have to live with that," he stood up from his throne and began to walk towards the exit of the Longhouse. His footsteps were sluggish but, his long strides carried him to the entrance within seconds.

Aslaug sat up from her throne, "Where are you going?"

Ragnar stopped at the doorway, but said nothing. His head was turned just enough for the hearthfire to light up the profile of his face, and the frown he wore under his mustachio. With silence the only answer he gave her, the King of Kattegat walked out of the house and into the night. Aslaug gripped her horn in a vice before flinging into the fire out of anger and frustration.

* * *

  
  



	6. 5: the beat of a drum

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kara wakes up from a nightmare, only to dive into an argument with Ivar. Insults are given, and Kara promptly leaves him. Ragnar has his first encounter with Hulda after years of not seeing her.

  
  


_The sound of a beating drum thumped in her ear in the rhythm of her frantic heartbeat. That's all she could hear, aside from her heavy breathing echoing in her mind. Her head laid back against the damp grass, her hair undone from the braid long ago and was now fanned out against the dark grass. Her scalp was crimson from blood, not all her own, and it had fallen down passed her brow and spilled into the whites of her eyes._

_The sky was clear, with only the sun glaring directly above her face and setting her skin on fire. Coupled with the coolness of the blood soaked grass beneath her, it felt like she hung between Niflheim and Muspelheim, suspended between life and death. She closed her eyes for a second, but it felt long enough for the feeling in her muscles to come back to life. Sounds and motions hit her all at once, and the adrenaline flowed in her veins with a renown vigour. Fingers curled around the grip of what remained of her spear, then she pulled her legs up to her chest and with a fluid motion she flipped onto her feet with both grace and her resurrected might. With her sword long gone, she opted to pull out the dagger strapped to her ankle and immediately looked around the hills of the battlefield. Bodies in boiled leather, chain mail, and iron armour and helms were tangled together in the heat of slaughter, all in the name of victory or Valhalla._

_Her eyes scanned through the faces of both men and women; brothers in arms, and shield sisters alike, until her gaze landed on a pair of bright, blue eyes, staring right back at her from a field away._

Ivar had slowly woken from the sound of mumbling and fast breathing that wasn't his own. Blinking in the dark, he rolled to the very edge of his cot to see the form of a girl tangled in furs on the floor frantically twitching and moving around in her sleep. It took a second or two for the boy's sleep-fogged mind to register that the girl was Kára. Instantly he became annoyed both by her being here, in his room, as well as her disturbing his sleep. However, when her face rolled out from the furs, he could plainly see the furrowed brow and snarl on her face. Ivar's annoyance was quick to turn to that of curiosity, wondering at what she could possibly be dreaming about. Ivar leaned over the bed to get a better look at her, and noticed her fingers twitching and curling into her palm. Her knuckles clenched and unclenched, followed by violent twitches of her shoulder. All of a sudden, her legs jolted and she launched herself from the floor and collided her forehead with Ivar's.

A duet of groans filled the void of silence in the night, both of the preteens rolled around in their furs in pain, clutching the spot between their eyes.

"What in Odin's name were you doing? Trying to kiss me in my sleep?" Kára whispered harshly, keeping her eyes tightly closed and her fingers rubbing the spot where his head hit hers.

Ivar spat, "What were _you_ doing? You were moving around in your sleep, and mumbling like a mad woman." He pouted in his cot, palm pressed against his forehead and glaring into the dark with his annoyance returning in full swing.

"I was having a nightmare," she replied, ripping her hand away from her head and pulling herself up from the floor to glare at him. "Why were you so close to my face in the first place?"

Ivar rolled onto his side so he could look at her through the darkness. There was no light to help him, but his eyes were already adjusted and he could see her pale, dirty face just fine, but not enough to see the red mark his forehead imprinted on her own. He avoided her question, and continued with his own, "What were you having a nightmare about? Taking a bath? Falling out of a tree?"

Kára lifted herself so that she was sitting on her legs and rubbing the dulling soreness of her head, "Why do you care, Ivar?"

"I don't," he replied, a bit softer than he intended to.

Kára turned to look at him with a tired expression, her brows furrowed and lips curled into a frown, "Of course you don't; you don't care about anything, do you?"

It was Ivar's turn to furrow his brow and curl his lips into a frown, "What is that supposed to mean?"

"It means exactly how it sounds. You do not care about anyone else but yourself."

"You do not know me, and I do not know you. There is no reason for me to care for a stranger, especially one as obnoxious as you are," Ivar found himself sitting up with his hands to his sides. His fingers curled into his palms, trying to hold back the impulse from raising his fist to her. He knew it would only meet air, since she had the advantage of being able to dodge it. He opted for something he had the better hand at, and it was wounding her verbally. If Kára chose to strike him out of anger, he knew that he was able to hold his own until his mother or brothers came to pull her off. She would know better as well, since this was _his_ territory and her empty threats would not work here. "That is why no one will care for you, _Ulfsdóttir_. You are annoying, ugly, filthy, and no one even knew you existed up until this moment. You are nobody, and I am a prince -- a son of Ragnar Lothbrok and Aslaug Sigurdsdóttir. If you've got a good reason for me to care about you, then by all means, share it."

It was true, his words had done its duty and stung Kára's greatest insecurities, but not as much as he would like. The girl knew Ivar to be needlessly cruel, for reasons she could only assume to be how he was born and, to whom he was born to. Though, because of this, it all seemed... predictable. Every instinct in her muscles told her to run at him and push him, slap him, or give him a black eye to put him in his place. He might be a prince, but he was as weak as the day he was born, and Kára would love nothing less than to remind him of that. The true hierarchy between them was not that of their class, but of their bodies. Kára was shamelessly superior to him and in any other instances, she would live longer than him. Even in nature, animals that were born with deformities barely lived to see an entire season before they were taken by nature itself. Ivar would have been no different had he been born in any other family. That was the sad truth of their world that they lived in.

She could have said this and be just as cruel as Ivar was with his tongue, but when Kára got up to her feet and squared her shoulders, she suddenly felt something in her chest that made her stop. It was the sight of him, all defiant and bound in his cot, his legs tied together indefinitely. If he were to stand, he would surely be taller than her, and for some reason that realization had brought Kára to pity him, but not in the way most pitied him. Others would look at him like an injured puppy and feel sorry for the dear boy for simply being born the way he was. However, that wasn't what Kára pitied him for. She pitied him for all the potential he could have been, but ended up being a colossal disappointment. Instead of becoming stronger because of his legs, he had turned bitter and angry, and did nothing to improve himself. She pitied him not for what he was, but what he _could_ have been, and won't be.

Kára let out a steady sigh, her face dropped to something neutral that Ivar could not read. "I cannot believe I had wanted to be your friend," this statement was directed at herself, more than anything. She did not fear Ivar like the other children, but was always curious about him. After the other day on the hill, he brought her some amusement. That, and his lips were soft. It was enough to make an impression on her, and being a child with no friends her own age, she wanted to meet him again. However, when she was given that opportunity, she quickly learned why Ivar the Boneless didn't have friends his own age as well.

Shaking her head, she focused on the crippled boy in front of her, "You are not worth it." Her heel turned as she made her way towards the exit, and Ivar, both caught off guard by her words and her departure, stumbled to ask her where she thought she was going.

"Home," she said, pulling back the furs and mesh that separated the bedroom from the room adjacent. Kára gave him a final look before adding one last thing before her departure. "I would say it was nice knowing you, Ivar, but I am not one to lie. Goodbye."

She had gone without giving him the opportunity to breathe the last word. This had frustrated him so much that he picked up the nearest object -- a wooden mug -- and flung it against the door frame.

With a head vibrating with a headache, Kára had walked on her swift, still bare feet right out of the Great Hall. She hadn't the time to assess her surroundings, if she had, she would have seen the Queen linger on the other side of the longhouse where the fabric divider separated the Hall from her private quarters. Aslaug's sharp stare followed Kára's body fluidly until she left into the night. Her gaze whipped back to where she heard the sound of a wooden cup chip off the wall and bounce off. Ragnar's words echoed in her mind annoyingly, but after what she had heard, she grew in satisfaction and assurance that what he said would not ring true.

**\-- a fortnight later --**

Hulda sighed irritably as she examined the legs of her daughter's trousers. On top of them becoming frayed at the hems, they were also rising higher and higher up her calves. It was only a year ago that they had been sewn to fit the girl's long legs, however it seemed like she had grown five more inches over the span of a few months. Her eyes landed on the girl's feet, which were exceptionally dirty as well. The bottoms were practically black, and in between her toes were grass stains that darkened over time. Her toenails were even worse.

When the woman raised her eyes to meet the unsuspecting face of her daughter, Kára paused with a spoon halfway to her lips. Her eyebrow twitched from her mother's unimpressed stare, and she shifted in her spot uncomfortably.

"What?"

"You need a bath," Hulda stated flatly.

Kára did not skip a beat to react. Her spoon dropped into her porridge with a plop and splash, and the table justled as she pulled her legs from under it and high-tailed it towards the exit of the house in one swift movement.

Hulda was quicker to react, having been used to this reaction from Kára since she had been able to walk. There was an irrational fear that her daughter had with water, especially in natural bodies of it. Hulda was lucky to get her in the river for a bath once in a moon, but now that she was blossoming to a woman, this bad habit needed to change. Kára had not bled yet, but once that happens, her hygiene would get worse if she continued to avoid the water. Hulda's long arms had slung around the girl's waist and pulled her close to her body.

Kára flailed about fruitlessly, but her mother had a surprisingly strong grip for a woman who does little to gain tone and muscle. Hulda held on to her with difficulty, though, since her daughter was growing at a rapid pace, and her hunting and climbing activities had made her lithe body strong. Still, Hulda was her mother, so she had the upper hand at knowing that Kára would not fight to the point of physical injury. Lifting her up was like holding a wiggling cat that was trying to get away from human affection.

It took some time, and an immense amount of effort, but Hulda had managed to drag Kára to the riverbed, strip her bare and tossed her into the water. Kára flailed helplessly, clutching on a rock that bordered the river.

"Are you crazy, lady?! I could have _drowned!_ " Kára shouted, bracing her body on the edge, while her legs floated unceremoniously behind her. Hulda had ignored her as she, too, stripped out of her red robes and gowns and stepped into the water gracefully.

"The water does not even reach your chin," the red woman assured her daughter, but that did nothing to slacken the grip that Kára had on the rock. Sighing, Hulda swam to her and continued her routine of bathing her daughter while she braced herself on the side of something for dear life. Hulda pulled out a comb and attempted the miracle of detangling her daughter's hair.

Through the growls and yelps of the young girl, Hulda glanced up at her pained, paling face before speaking. "You know, one day you must get over this fear of yours. What would you do if you are to sail off to England or Paris to raid?"

"I'll fly there," she blurted in determination, which made Hulda snort.

"You'll fly there? How?"

'I'll become an inventor, like father, and make a pair of wings-- Ow!" she hissed at the sharp jerk of the comb going through a tight knot.

Smirking, Hulda humoured her daughter, "Then you'll be able to fly over the walls of Paris, like a Valkyrie!"

"Exactly--Ow! You're doing this on purpose," Kára wiggled furiously away from her mother's fingers.

"It is your fault that your hair is as tangled as it is -- you never brush it, you never braid it. It is like detangling a rat's nest," Hulda had half a mind of chopping it all off out of sheer frustration.

Silence befell them, save for the sound of the wind blowing in the leaves and water splashing against the river rocks. Every once in awhile there was a wince, a groan and a yelp as Hulda did her best with the comb. During this moment, Kára had let her mind wander to the dinner she had with the Ragnarssons, and what she had learned from Queen Aslaug.

"Why didn't you tell me that aunt Sigrún died in battle?"

Hulda paused for a moment at the question. Her eyes defocused for a moment before resuming combing out the knots in Kára's hair.

"Who told you that?"

"Queen Aslaug,"

"When did you talk with the Queen?"

"Stop changing the subject,"

Hulda sighed through her nose, and watched her fingers tug at the ends to free the girl's hair from the tangles. "The past is painful, so I do not look back at it," was her answer, an answer that Kára had predicted, but wasn't satisfied with. "What else did Aslaug tell you?"

Kára adjusted herself on the rock and bit her lip in thought. "She told me that she, Sigrún, and you all grew up with each other like sisters, and that aunt Sigrún saved the two of you from a man."

A ghost of a smile appeared on Hulda's pale face; it was a mixture of nostalgia and sadness. "Sigrún picked up a spear and threw it right into the man's chest," she recollected that moment. "We were fourteen summers old."

Silence befell on them once again. Kára didn't wish to bring up any more painful memories for her mother, so she allowed the sounds of nature fill the quiet space.

Hulda had eventually managed, miraculously, to detangle the red tresses and pulled away. "You never told me how you met the Queen," the older woman brought back the previous question.

"I was having dinner at the Longhouse with the King and his family," Kára answered, keeping information limited. She didn't want to mention meeting Ragnar in the forest that day she fled home.

Hulda raised an eyebrow at that, seeing what happened the other week with Ivar, for Kára to willingly have dinner with the Royal family was surprising. "How did that go?"

Kára glared into the rock face at the memory of that night, especially when she woke up smacking her forehead against Ivar's. "I don't want to talk about it."

**— — —**

The market had grown ever since Ragnar and his men had left to conquer Paris. Many foreign merchants had settled around the border of Kattegat, offering exotic silks and fabrics, new embroidery, and beautifully intricate jewellery. For herbs and new crops, the Market flourished most, bringing in new flavours and spices that most Northmen have never even heard of. Naturally, this setting brought in many bodies filing through each other, sometimes those with pilfering fingers and ill intent. Hulda did not wish to be one of the many bodies that wove with each other, not that she did not trust strangers, but because crowds were not a welcome feeling for her. She had spent many years isolated from the populace that she had forgot what it felt like to be one with a moving crowd of humans. However, she had a growing child and that required new fabric to make new clothes. Typically, she would pay Helga to do this for her, but this time...she felt inclined to go herself.

It felt unworldly walking side by side with her mother in the most crowded place of all of Kattegat. Kára stole a glance at her mother, draped in her thick maroon colored robes with the hood pulled loosely over her head. That did nothing to guise who she was, because eyes were casted in their direction as they walked side by side down the middle of the walkway. Some even pushed away to give them more space to walk through. This feeling was extremely foreign to Kára; it made her feel like royalty, but she was pretty sure that not even the Ragnarssons were given this kind of treatment in public. When she came to the market alone, she was shoved and pushed out of the way, since she appeared to just be another orphan that piled up in the port city.

A Völva entering a dwelling was a rare and honoured event. However, those who knew of Hulda knew that she was not far away from Kattegat, and those who lived in the port city as long as it's origin, knew that she had resided in the city once upon a time. Foreigners only followed by example upon seeing the locals reactions to the curious woman in red, and listened keenly to the whispers their customers shared amongst each other. It had taken the light off of Ragnar, who had arrived at the marketplace a while ago alongside his son, Bjorn.

The king leaned against a barrel of mead as his son stood tall next to him. Bjorn had been talking about the Berserker who he had fought during his isolated winter, while fiddling with the ring on his finger. Ragnar had only half listened, not out of disinterest, but simply because his mind was still foggy from the night prior when Yidu had given him his medicine. In his own hand he fiddled with the pit of peach he had gotten from one of the foreign vendors. His nails dug into the grooves while trying his hardest to pull his mind from slipping into fake images to focus Bjorn's words.

Ragnar found his eyes moving on their own accord, shifting from the ground and landing on the duo that cut through the crowd of the market. The blood-orange braid draped over her shoulder with wisps of red hair framing around her doll-like face, that slowly began to shift into a sharper, darker, and older appearance. War paint coated her eyes and blood spilled from her scalp down her eyes. With the spear clutched in her hand and a shield in another, she walked with a gait that made her appear larger and leather.

Ragnar felt the air leave his lungs and his lips parted as if to gasp for a breath. The sound of a drum beating to the rhythm of his heart thundered in his mind.

"Father?" Bjorn placed a hand on his shoulder.

Ragnar blinked rapidly, the image had left him the moment he tore his eyes away and back on the floor. He pulled his hand up to his eyes and pressed his palm into them, and returned his eyes to Kára and her mother. The child contrasted what she looked before; clad in a dusty blue dress and brown apron, a clean face, and her hair visibly damp but locked into the long plait that rested on her shoulder. Hulda looked less innocent and more transcendental in her flowing red robes and hood, with only her lovely pale face and slender arms peaking through the fabrics. 

Bjorn reacted accordingly and turned around to see what his father was staring at. The muscles in his face tensed before they relaxed when he saw who it was; while he had not seen her since he was a boy, there was an immediate recognition and shock at seeing her in a public setting.

As if their gaze made a physical touch, Hulda had turned in their direction and immediately caught the wild eyes of King Ragnar. Like a child being caught doing something naughty, Ragnar had the urge to pull his gaze away, but found himself trying to keep his eyes up and not shying away. The moment her dark orbs had met his bright ones, it felt like she had stepped into his mind and shamefully tisked at the state of it. That feeling was unlike what ever he felt with the Seer, simply because she had eyes like the sea; deep, foreboding, and unforgiving during times. He had not realized she had approached him until his son spoke.

"Hulda -- it has been a long time since I last saw you," Bjorn offered no smile, but the softness of his features were friendly enough. There was no smiling for the eldest son of Ragnar after what he had endured in the wilderness during the winter, and especially now that he knew that there was _someone_ trying to kill him. The last time Bjorn had seen the Red Woman, she was a happily married with a son who was the same age as him, but when he returned to Kattegat with his mother to aide his father to reclaim the city, Hulda and Ulf's son was not with them.

Ragnar nearly curled into himself as the witch approached him and Bjorn. Her eyes had not left him until her feet stopped, and she gently pulled her chin to the direction of the taller Lothbrok. Her smiled ease the tensions between the three adults, as well as Kára quietly approaching at the rear. She looked up quizzically at the three of them, but landed on Ragnar for longer second, who in turn continued to avoid all eye contact.

"Well if it isn't the oldest Ragnarsson," The witch peered into his face, examining his features thoroughly before settling on his eyes. Her hands reached up and cupped his cheeks, with her thumbs sliding under this lids. It was Bjorn's turn to endure the intense gaze of the Völva, but unlike his father, he did not look away. Instead he kept his brow straight and met the woman's pupil as she peered into his soul. "I see you are a man, now. I heard your call in the winter... and I see the bear in your eye. His spirit lies there, ready to aide you in your ambitions," her hands slipped from his face and down to his hands, where her fingers landed on the iron ring on his finger.

"Do you know whose ring this is?" Bjorn asked immediately the moment her fingers touched his. 

She patted his hand, while still cupping them on her own, "The answer will be revealed to you soon, from holy lips."

"Are you not holy?"

Hulda gave a soft chuckle before pulling her hands away from him and bringing it to her person, then she turned her attention back to Ragnar.

"Hello Ragnar," she replied simply.

He gave a nod, but no reply and kept his arms folded across him.

"I heard you brought my daughter over to the longhouse for nattmal," she watched the king look at Kára before returning his wide blue stare up at the Red Woman.

"She was hungry," he finally spoke, his voice both soft and hoarse, as if he had gone a whole day without drinking. Ragnar's thumb went back to digging into the grooves of the peach pit in his hand as he slowly gained back his voice. "What has brought you here, if I may ask? You have not stepped into Kattegat since... For a very long time."

Hulda's arm snaked over Kára's shoulder and brought her closer to her side, "Kára is in need of new clothes. I came for fabric," she casted a look around the market in mild impress. "Kattegat has greatly grown since I last lived here. It's a change that I knew would happen, with you at the helm of it all."

Ragnar leaned his elbow on the barrell casually as he flashed a set of teeth in what appeared to be a bashful grin at the compliment. His mind was still foggy, and he felt a great apprehension from being so vulnerable around her; it was like he wanted to avoid her judgement the most out of everyone. He was sure that his family, his friends, and his people noticed his great change, but he had no care for their opinions. He was king, he could do as he pleased. However, Hulda was vastly different from everyone in his life; one, she did not answer him. She, like the Seer, was the mouthpiece to the gods, but unlike the Seer, she was a woman, which meant her gifts put her on a grander status than even his wife.

Aslaug had tried to convince him that she, too, was a Völva by predicting Sigurd's serpentine eye before he was born. That instance had no doubt convinced Ragnar of his wife's abilities. Foresight she had, but she was no Völva, not to the degree that Hulda was. The Red Woman was wiser, more talented, and if testimonies served her reputation correct, she was more accurate with her prophecies and predictions than Aslaug. Perhaps it was the reason why Aslaug had grown more jealous of Hulda every year. Aslaug's magical prowess only served herself, her sons, and Ragnar, so she grew little in her skill. Hulda had committed herself the moment her husband died, but years before she had opened her services to the masses, which included being a midwife and healer. If Ragnar remembered correctly, she even served the Seer for a few years before she married Ulf to learn more of the gods.

Ragnar did not wish to appear vulnerable, but he knew on some level that Hulda knew it just by looking at him. Still, he was determined not to seem like a fool in front of her, so he attempted to at least appear confident in his words. He started by making the keen observation as he turned his attention back to the little redhead with the braid, when he noticed her feet under the clearly too-short skirt.

"Look who has shoes," he joked, and then looked back at the mother. "I had the impression you were allowing the wolves to raise her, Hulda."

The woman gave a great sigh, "I have the impression she would love that."

"Stop talking like I am not here," Kára huffed with her arms crossed. The three adults regarded her with amusement, which only fueled her annoyance and then it tripled when Ragnar had the audacity to ruffle her hair. She swatted at his hand.

Hulda adjusted her arm around her daughter's shoulders as she turned back to Bjorn, "Bjorn, would you do me a small favour and take my daughter for a moment. I wish to talk to your father, if you don't mind. You can tell her your adventures in the mountains."

Ragnar felt his heart stop, and then his stomach dropped the moment Bjorn obliged with the nod of his head. Hulda's hand was replaced with Ironside's massive one as he escorted Kára away from the two and into the markets. Ragnar had half a mind to reach out for his son's sleeve and beg him to not leave him alone with the Völva, he knew the lecture he would endure from her would be filled with more shame than his wife could ever invent.

The moment that they were out of earshot, Hulda rounded on him with her lips falling to a straight line. "You are not yourself, Ragnar."

The man rolled his head, pointing his nose in the opposite direction of her. "I do not know what you are talking about," he replied, but felt fingers curl under his chin and yank his face back to her by his beard. His eyes turned wide from both the sting and surprise at her boldness.

"Do not play fool with me, Ragnar Lothbrok," she chided him, and kept her nails on his chin. "Your skin is dry, your lips are tainted red, and your eyes are bloodshot. I know a fraying man when I see one. You had such a beautiful mind," she pulled away, her expression growing mournful. "Why do you poison it?"

His eyes darted to and fro from hers, finding more clarity in that moment since he had woke up that day with a foggy mind due to the night prior. "It is medicine, not poison," he defended himself through a whisper. "I came from Paris with a weak and ill body. I nearly had died, if it had not been for Yidu's medicine."

Hulda's eyes narrowed, "Yidu. This is not a northern name."

"She is not a northern woman,"

"So, she is a slave?" It came out as a question, but it was meant as a statement. Hulda gave no room for a reply as she continued, "Do you have any confidence that she is doing this for your benefit and not hers?"

Ragnar pursed his lips, causing his mustache to cover his mouth. "She is not like that; she is different."

Hulda crossed her arms and rolled her hip to the side. "Like Lagertha and Aslaug?" She tilted her head to the side.

The viking straightened his spine and closed the distance between them so he towered over her by half a foot. He placed his hand on the stack of barrels behind her head and balanced on one foot while the other crossed around his ankle. "Are you jealous?"

The woman's face fell into stone, "You know, Lothbrok, not all women who fuck you are in love with you."

His eyebrows rose to his hairline as he rolled his head onto his raised shoulder, "I did not say that, you did." Ragnar brazenly smiled, "Though, now that you mention it, that does seem like a pattern."

Hulda rolled her eyes, "And yet you do not do a good job at holding their love."

That wound stung and he showed it by sucking through his teeth and leaning back from the verbal assault. He pulled his free hand up to his breast and held his heart to illustrate the wound. When his hand dropped to his side again, he leaned back to her and whispered, "Maybe I am not a good man to love. Maybe, my heart is doomed to be fickle and selfish. For what's it worth, Hulda, I do not foresee another woman falling in love with me again."

The word 'foresee' triggered a hand motion from the woman, and Hulda found that she had little control of herself and reached up and to place her fingers over the cavity that hid his heart. Her eyes flickered to the spot and her muscles slackened under her pale skin. Slightly taken back by the sudden change in her demeanour, Ragnar once again found himself breathless and tense.

The sound of thumping drummed in his ear and for a moment he did not realize it was his own heart beat. It sounded like a drum that was being rhythmically beaten by a god as her fingertips pressed against his leather jerkin. She recoiled her hand slowly and brought it to her own chest; the digits curling into her palm, while her thumb rubbed along her long middle nail in thought.

Hulda cleared her throat, "I would not worry so much on romance, Ragnar Lothbrok. Stay concerned on your mind, and the state of it. Your reliance on this woman and her ' _medicine_ ' I fear will stray you farther away from yourself, and everyone you love."

"I can handle myself," Ragnar was stubborn; he did not want to part with his only sanctuary, not now, and perhaps not ever. The times he did not have Yidu's herbs, it was like if he was living in Hel, or walking in perpetual agony of his soul. When he took them, he felt light, powerful, and invincible. He witnessed things he never imagined, and the king could not see himself give up that precious gift.

"You are isolating yourself from your family, and friends. Why would you rather be with a slave, than your own sons?"

Ragnar pursed his lips again, he attempted to bite his tongue before it moved on it's own, but it was left to its own devices. "Are you not doing the same thing, Hulda? Isolating yourself from your friends?" She squinted at him, but gave no rebuttal, which was the man's small victory. "You would not know, would you, if I was truly avoiding my family. You are not here to witness it."

Very slowly, Hulda's lips stretched into a smile as an idea had formulated in her mind, and Ragnar's wide eyes frantically bounce between her orbs and mouth, wondering what she was thinking, and what he had said for this idea to be birthed. He feared it would be something he would immediately regret, or regret later. Neither was ideal.

"Then, perhaps I will listen to my own advice and finally reunite myself with the city I had grown to love. If not for me, than for my daughter, who I know needs more than what I can offer alone," Her arms swung down to her sides, her eyes sparkling with her larger victory. "If you are truly not avoiding your family, Ragnar, then surely we will be seeing each other more often." She began to walk away from him, her shoulder gently grazing his as she did so.

Once the woman was out of eyeshot, Ragnar pulled back his lips and bared his clenched jaw in annoyance at the predicament that he found himself in. Ragnar dragged his hand down his face, and cursed under his breath.

* * *

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Vikings were actually very hygienic people. This is shown briefly in the show with Ragnar washing his face and blowing his nose in a basin that was presented to him and his family by a slave. They combed their hair every day, and bleached it to get rid of lice. They bathed in bathing houses, in lakes, rivers, etc, or sometimes had tubs of water in their quarters. Women carried around hygienic tools attached to their broaches like keychains. On it was a comb of bone or ivory, tweezers, razors, and ear spoons to clean their ears. They were also worn like accessories because they were intricately designed. So it was pretty frowned upon and taboo to be dirty and unhygienic, which is why it is a big deal that Kara is so dirty. Since she lived all her life away from society for the most part, and having to do most of the fishing and hunting for her and her mother, it's natural that she appears so feral and with little care of how she presents herself to people. Regular social norms of her society don't apply to her because she wasn't raised that way, but that doesn't erase the expectation that her people have on her. So that's another reason why people treat her badly when she's alone in Kattegat. 
> 
> I know I've mentioned this before, but Volva were well respected in Viking culture. When one visited a city, the jarl, king, or queen often gave up their seat for the volva. Men who practiced magic were taboo. They were often assumed to be untrustworthy, which is why Ragnar made that comparison that the Seer was not considered as revered as Hulda, because he was a man practicing a woman's craft. Also, the reason why Aslaug is not considered an actual witch, is because she is married with children. All women were seen to have magic powers, some stronger than others, but to be a true Volva, one has to forgo their family and dedicate their entire lives to the gods and magic. Of course, as you can see, this isn't entirely true for Hulda, but I mentioned before this is something that will be addressed later in the story.


	7. 6: the vixen's scream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kara gets the opportunity to show off her mettle in front of the Ragnarssons. 
> 
> warning: major sue moment. i am sorry. not really.

  
  


Bjorn had found himself abandoned by his father, which did not surprise him while simultaneously aggravating him. Ragnar had been slipping from grace ever since they left for Paris, and just when he seemed to be gaining his health, it was his mind that had gone instead. By the time Ironside had returned from the mountains, he no longer recognized his father, which gave him an undeniable amount of disappointment. He wanted, more than anything, to live up to his father's expectations, but now Ragnar failed to meet Bjorn's.

Despite his father flaking away, Bjorn found himself content with the company that was plopped into his hands. Hulda's daughter had come to remind him of Gyda, but far less timid. He was sure if his sister was still alive, she would be a lot like their mother, who Kára also reminded him of. So, Bjorn came to enjoy the girl's company, enough for them to stray away from the market place and towards the thicket that wrapped around the city border, both engulfed with conversation.

"I've never seen a bear that size," Kára shares after Bjorn had finished his story about what he endured during his survival retreat.

Bjorn glanced down at her as they walked side by side, "But you've seen bears?"

"I live in the forest," the girl stats matter of factly, "I see them at least twice a season. Mostly mothers and their cubs. I try to stay in the trees until they pass by." It wasn't often that bears would come in the clearing of her house, but when they did, it was usually adolescent bears trying to find food. Bears of any age could do a lot of damage, but cubs and juveniles were easily frightened away if you give them enough of a scare. Kára explains to Bjorn that when they do come near them home, she hoists a large scarecrow with a stag skull mounted on the top, and then blows on a horn until they get frightened away.

Bjorn lifted his eyebrows in mild impress, "Clever. It sounds like you take after your father."

"I would like to be, but," she gave a long sigh and looked at her feet. "I know so little about him. I know what he did, and how he died. I know nothing of how he was, how he talked, how he walked, how he fought... nothing. I would not know if I was taking after him, with so little knowledge of him."

Bjorn's mouth fell into a firm line. He pitied the girl for the life she could have had with both a father and mother, and even a brother. He didn't realize how isolated she was until this moment, and it seemed like her mother helped little in the regards of knowing who she was, and where she came from.

"I did not know your father personally, but I can tell you what I remember about him," Bjorn offered, earning Kára's attention. "He was a smart man, and worked in a way that was five steps ahead of his enemies. He and my father weren't as close as he was with Floki, but Ulf's loyalty to my father was just as iron bound as any man in my father's warband. Ulf believed in Ragnar, almost as much as Floki, but his faith in him never wavered. As a boy, I remembered him to always have a smile on his face, but that changed when Eirik was killed during Jarl Borg's raid of Kattegat."

"Who was Eirik?"

Bjorn was surprised at little after his return from the mountain, but Kára's question had slowed down his strides until she was just a little ahead of him. He looked at the back of her head, his mind alert at her ignorance. Surely she would know the name of her brother, even if she was not born when he had died. Would Hulda really deprive her daughter the knowledge of her having a brother? Perhaps she knew she had one, but simply did not know his name.

Kára turned to him when she noticed his gait had slowed, but also waited for the answer that he was hesitating to answer. Bjorn did not know if it was his place to give that answer, or at least a truthful one, if she truly did not know she had a brother. He thought, for now, he would play along with her ignorance, and simply say, "He was a good friend, and a good man, just like your father.

Kára turned around and sighed, "It seems like everyone in the past were good men and good friends. Why does this not ring true when it comes to men of today?"

"I would not glamourize our fathers; not all men or women of the past were noble or honourable. My uncle had betrayed my father once, out of sheer jealousy, and in the end he had paid for his crimes when he became shamed by his people."

"Floki told me about Rollo," she replied. "How he redeemed himself when he saved Aslaug and your brothers from Jarl Borg's invasion. In comparison, he is more honourable than _most."_

Bjorn peered down at her before pulling his gaze up ahead, "You are talking about someone specifically, I take it."

"Perhaps," she admitted, her nose flaring up in slight agitation.

"And perhaps, it is one of my brothers?"

Her head spun around at him, almost giving herself whiplash from how she had to crane her neck. "How do you know that?"

Bjorn couldn't keep his mouth in a straight line when he made the observation. His teeth flashed in mild amusement, "Of all the youths in Kattegat, it is my younger half brothers who have all the reason to be insufferable. They were not raised humbly, not like I was. I was a farmer's son before I was a King's son, or an Earl's son. But Ubbe, Hvitserk, Sigurd and Ivar, they were raised as princes, and do not have much of the humility nor the knowledge that you and I have grown up learning."

"And what knowledge do you speak of?" Kára had turned back around, listening to Bjorn intently.

"Survival," he replied simply. "They never had to learn how to defend themselves, or their home. When I was your age, my mother and I had to defend our farm from strange men often while Ragnar was out raiding. And you," he nodded towards the forest that circled them. "Defend yourself and home from bears."

Kára couldn't help but smile at herself, and then up at Bjorn, "I suppose so. Though, if they want to bring any honour to their father's legacy, they should learn now. They are men, and I'm sure Ragnar will want to take Ubbe and Hvitserk to Paris this summer."

Bjorn nodded, "You are right. We can start today."

The girl stopped and looked up at him again, her brow knitted as she repeated him: "We?"

Ironside stopped as well, "Yes. You and I. Their place of training is not too far from here, and I'm sure they are spending the afternoon there as the Longhouse is full of visitors today. If we are lucky, we will see them there."

"What makes you think they will take any training advice from me?"

"I believe you will find a way to prove your mettle, Kára," Bjorn walked by her, a little east of the direction they were heading. "Nothing will motivate boys their age more than seeing a girl that is better than they are."

Kára suddenly pictured the face of Ivar as he watches from the sidelines while she plants every one of their arrows right into the bullseye from various distances. Then, he would surely feel like him owning her bow is a great disservice to such a fine crafted weapon. The redhead found herself smiling from ear to ear as she skipped over a rock to catch up with Ironside's long stride.

**— — —**

Ivar was thankful that their training area was not within public eye. He did not want more people witness his incompetence and failures. For years ever since he had shoved the axe into the skull of that boy, people looked on him in fear. He would rather people kept to that, instead of looking at him like a waste of skin, like a failure, or worse, look onto him with pity. He could endure Sigurd's taunts and chuckles -- that he was used to, despite it always getting under his skin. But the shame of being watched by others would cripple his pride, and his pride is the one thing he refused to be crippled.

Despite Ubbe's tips on using a bow and how to aim, it did not help Ivar. For every arrow he let let loose would wobble in the wind and land pathetically in the grass, five feet away from the intended target. His cheek now had a red mark and a welt blooming from when the string slapped him. If he weren't wearing wrist guards, there would be even more welts on his wrists. After his thirtieth arrow had just skimmed the border of the round target and landed in the bush, Ivar groaned loudly in frustration, his fingers curling around the limbs of the wooden bow threateningly.

"I would say you will be better off sewing, Ivar, but maybe your eye can't even see the hole in the needle if you can't even see a giant target 20 feet in front of you," Sigurd smirked to himself as he brought his whetstone to his sword.

"It's this bow! It's shit!"

"A bad workman blames his tools," the commanding voice of Bjorn shook the training area, causing all movement to freeze and silence. Their oldest brother entered with wide shoulders and a leader's gait, one that he rightfully earned. Ubbe, Hvitserk, and Sigurd stopped what they were doing and went over to their older brother. He had returned a few nights ago, but they had not gotten a moment alone, since Bjorn found himself preoccupied with something he wouldn't share. Ivar remained sitting on the cut tree trunk, stationary in his spot for obvious reasons, but also sulking at Bjorn's comment.

"Bjorn!" Ubbe reached his brother, and clapped him on the biceps. "Where have you been? You have to tell us what happened up in the mountains."

"We heard that you fought a bear," Sigurd added just as Hvitserk came up behind him.

"I will share the tale with you, my brothers, in due time. But, today, I thought we could help you with training, since," he sent a glance up to his youngest brother, raising his eyebrows playfully. "You four clearly need it."

Ubbe and Hvitserk both scoffed, while Ivar scowled and went to rub his cheek in shame. It was Sigurd who looked at Bjorn and asked him to clarify one detail.

"We? Who is we?"

"My friend and I," The viking turned around just in time for a girl in a blue dress and apron approach the clearing from the opening between two trees. She had orange hair in a plait over her shoulder, and the three who stood looked at her with confusion. Ivar tried to hold his ground and glower in the opposite direction, but the silence drew his curiosity and he turned around. The muscles in his face slackened at who stood there, for he did not recognize her. She was clean, her hair was no longer a mess, and there was a natural tan on her skin that hid under dirt before. Not to mention she was in a dress that was clearly too small for her. The skirt cut too high, and stitching clung tightly at the seams, her growing body threatening to break them. It gave her the illusion of curves and femininity that was not quite there yet.

It was Sigurd who deduced it quicker, "Kára? Kára Ulfsdóttir?"

"That would be me," she stood awkwardly next to Bjorn, looking at the three and only glancing at the fourth for a split second.

Hvitserk eyed her and then his half brother, "A girl is going to help us train? What does she know about fighting?"

"I know that your wrist guard is on backwards," she snapped back and then worked over to Ubbe, "The reason why you keep stumbling is because your footing isn't balanced," she turned to Sigurd, "You're using the wrong type of stone to sharpen that sword, and--" she at last landed on Ivar who was avoiding her eyes. " _You_ are not holding the bow correctly."

Hvitserk flushed embarrassingly as he quickly looked down at this wrist and scrambled to correct it. Ubbe was more tactful and looked at his older brother, who seemed smug, which meant that she was right. He nodded his head, "I guess we do need a little help."

"I'm happy to hear that, Ubbe," Bjorn clapped his half brother on the shoulder. Ubbe was getting tall, almost reaching Bjorn's height. The boy reminded him a lot of himself at his age; more eager to learn, to try new things. He even had the same cut he had at that age.

Hvitserk was still unimpressed and unconvinced. After he had fixed his wrist guard, he looked up as if he did not get called out on his idiocy. "How exactly is she going to help us? Even if she knows _a bit_ , she is in a dress."

Sigurd had lifted his head up from examining what he had originally thought was a whetstone was really just a regular rock, which only irritated him. After he threw it over his shoulder, he stood next to Hvitserk with his hands on his belt. "The only person who needs the most help is Boneless over there. He's sunk every arrow we have into the soil."

Ivar's fingers curled white around the limbs of the bow, his shoulders shaking from the boiling rage that threatened to explode. Kára had noticed it, which made her turn to glare at Sigurd, "I doubt your prowess is anything to brag about, Sigurd."

Bjorn did not want to interrupt, he stood next to Ubbe and watched the children puff up their chests around Kára, peacocking their prides as if they deserved it. He, of course, was not so ignorant as his brothers. They were raised by women who did not fight, whereas his mother was a shieldmaiden of legend. She lead a company of entirely skilled shieldmaidens like herself, that many seasoned vikings could not beat. His half brothers had yet to see a woman best a man in front of them, and not through tales told by Aslaug. The viking folded his arms across his chest and tilted his head at the display, Ubbe patiently standing beside him, watching what he had a feeling would surely humiliate his hot-headed brothers.

Sigurd snorted, "Is that a challenge?"

Ivar peaked over his shoulder, still silently angry, but he couldn't deny the interest in the situation. His eyes met with Kára's and he felt the need to quickly look away. For some reason he felt shame even looking at her, especially after their last encounter. He was still resentful at how she made him feel that night; Ivar had never felt as utterly useless as he did that moment. The shock of her words had cut deep, and reminded him he would never fully be a man, let alone a man that his father would be proud of. He found himself angry crying into the darkness, which eventually triggered Aslaug to come in rushing in to console him, without asking what was wrong.

"The only challenge I'm going to get from this is trying not to laugh at how bad you are," Kára stood in the middle of the training yard now, her arms crossed over her chest, but just barely. The seams in her sleeves pulled her back from even taking a comfortable pose. She mentally yelled at her mother for making her wear the dress over her old tunic and trousers.

Sigurd and Hvitserk visibly bristled; their shoulders squared and Bjorn had to hide his mouth behind a hand to hide the all-knowing smirk caused by their predictable reaction. Kára knew what she was doing -- it was so easy to rile boys up when you question their competence. It tended to make the embarrassment of losing all the more worse.

"Alright, have your way then," Hvitserk grabbed a bow and a few of Ivar's failed arrows from the ground and then moved back farther, nearly to the order of the clearing. He pointed a finger at one of the wooden targets that was strung up across the yard. Sigurd shortly followed suit, and stood across from next target. "We will see who is the better archer. You, or us," the elder of the two boasted as he lifted his arm with the bow.

Already Kára could spot errors in their technique. Elbows too high, not using enough fingers to knock back the arrow, not to mention their drawback was weak. She was surprised it even hit near the target at all, but she decided the elements were on their side today -- it wasn't windy where they were. Hvitserk's arrow landed just two inches shy of the center, whereas Sigurd's landed a little farther south, which he was visibly disappointed on. Nevertheless, he looked back with confidence, as if she would merely graze the target, or hit the rim.

The cocky little shit that was Hvitserk made a mock bow as he gestured towards the targets, "Your turn, Greenfoot."

The redhead sighed at the nickname, not enjoying how easily it had caught on ever since she had came to the Longhouse that night. Turning around she walked up to Ivar, who wasn't prepared for her to be even near him. He didn't know what he was expecting, but when she held out her hand and simply said, "give me it," he looked at the bow that was once hers. He was hesitant; what if she just took this moment to take back her bow and ran off with it? It was his. The Red Woman gave it to him, and she promised it would give him good fortune.

"I'll give it back," she replied a little more forcefully.

He pursed his lips but relented, and handed her over the bow. The moment the wood landed on her fingers, a new found confidence built up in Kára's chest. It had been too long since she had last held her bow. It was familiar, but new in a way. It no longer smelled like home. Which reminded her that it no longer belonged to her, and that gave her a dull sore in her chest.

She swallowed down her sadness and walked back to where the brothers stood waiting. Kára lifted her arms up, but the fabric of her sleeves constricted again. She could barely lift her arms above her shoulders at how tight it was. Sigurd and Hvitserk sniggered under their breaths, and with the eyes of Ubbe and Bjorn on her, it was aggravating and humiliating that she was being restrained by a stupid dress. Kára looked up and caught the scrutinizing look of Ivar from the other side, and she then remembered how Sigurd had talked to him only moments ago. Setting her jaw she lifted her arms once again, more forcefully, causing the seams of her sleeves and down her spin to rip open. The sound made the boys quiet at least, but they shared amused looks, as immature boys do.

With freedom in her arms, Kára now felt in her element. She held the weapon up, bow arm straight, elbow pointed behind her, string to her nose, and her eagle eye narrowing in on her target. The noise around her dulled to only the sounds of nature; the ruffles of leaves, the gentle wind rustling the branches from high above them, the frantic chirping of pheasants not too far away.

Her fingers relaxed into her palm and the breathe she held released the moment the arrow flew from her bow. It went straight for Sigurd's target, splitting through his arrow and causing the target to spin around from the wire that held it above ground. Before they could even comprehend where her arrow went, she pulled out another one and aimed at Hvitserk's; again not aiming for the center, but for his arrow, and it struck true the second time. Finally at the third, she drew another arrow, but this time she did not move for a moment longer. Kára waited only a few seconds, but the world slowed down in that moment for her. Without warning, she let out a sound that could only be described as a blood curdling scream. The Ragnarssons, including Ubbe and Bjorn, were visible startled as they gave a slight jump.

It had done its trick though. A flurry of pheasants came flying out from the east, right through training area. Kára's arrow went loose, and found itself through the neck of a brightly coloured bird before burrowing into the center of the third and final target.

Silence befell them all as she lowered her arms and let them hang loosely by her sides. After a moment of eyeing her work, thoroughly impressed with herself, but trying to act as nonchalant as possible. Truthfully, the first two were easy, as they were stationary targets. It was only a matter of drawing back the string hard enough that she would be able to put enough weight behind the arrow to give it a strong enough impact to split their arrows. It was the pheasants that she took a chance at; if they did not fly in her direction, she would have made herself look like a mad woman. She took a chance at showboating, and it paid off. Perhaps it was the gods showing her some pity after her mother humiliated her that morning by throwing her naked and screaming in the river.

The victor lolled her head over to the two competitors, "Anyone hungry? I am only asking because your gaping mouths are drooling."

"What in Hel was that?" Ivar spoke at last, his body fully turned in their direction. He was talking about the bloodcurdling scream she had done.

She quickly turned to him and shuffled on her spot self consciously, and opened her mouth to explain, but Bjorn was the first to answer as he approached her from behind and clasped her shoulders with both of his large hands. "It was a Vixen's Scream. She did it to draw out the birds. A very good tactic when you are hunting pheasants, who are hiding, if you are quick enough."

He moved around her and to the center of the training area so he was looking at everyone. "Sigurd, Hvitserk, I am disappointed in you. The best and most valuable advice you can be given is to never underestimate your opponent, no matter their appearance, and you did the exact opposite. That is why I let this foolishness unfold, because I knew the humiliation would be a greater impact on you two. There are a great many things you can learn from someone like Kára, not only because she is skilled, but because she has more practical experience than all of you. Starting today, I will have her, and myself, assist you, my brothers, to become not only viking, but men worthy of the title."

He looked into the eyes of every single one, even Kára, as if challenging her to oppose this idea. Bjorn was far too intimidating to say no too, it was as if he was like a father figure, a far better one than their actual father. He did have a daughter, Siggy, perhaps that is why it seemed so natural to him.

Bjorn finally landed his gaze on Ivar, "And this includes you, Ivar," he approached him and laid his colossal hand on his shoulder. "Do not doubt yourself, for others will doubt you. Allow yourself help from others, and you will reach your potential faster. This, I promise you."

**— — —**

Training had resumed after that, but only for a short period, since the brothers had already been at it for a couple hours before Bjorn intervened. The sun was about to set when they left the training area, and headed back home. Only two remained behind.

For the remainder of that afternoon, Kára only found herself useful when she gave the Ragnarssons advice on how to take care of their weapons, since truthfully she had no formal training in using a sword. Her talent was in resourcefulness, hunting, and crafting. She knew how to aim, whether it be with a bow, a crossbow, spear, or axe. If it was long range, Kára was better than most adults, let alone people her age. Watching Bjorn with a sword and axe was an entirely different experience. Knowing how to survive and fight against the elements and the force of nature was vastly different to surviving on the battlefield.

Kára wanted to pick up a sword and throw herself in the spar with Bjorn with the others, but she had already gained their respect with her aim, and knew if she was terrible with the sword it would tarnish the reputation she had only just made herself. So she resumed to showing Ubbe how to do minor repairs on the grips of his weapons, while only glancing up at the others every once in awhile. Ivar seemed to be far more recluse, but more determined after Bjorn's declaration. He had abandoned the bow for now, and had taken up an axe and began throwing them at tree trunks; Kára noted that his aim was far better at that, than it was with the bow. She also noted that every time Ivar seemed to fail or humiliate himself, like fall off the tree stump, pull a muscle in his arms, or miss his target, Sigurd was quick to point that out and make some kind of insult.

She didn't know why it bothered her so much.

"Are you coming, Kára?" Bjorn asked her after Ubbe, Sigurd, and Hvitserk had left the clearing, leaving her to pick up lost arrows in the ground.

The redhead turned to the other end, where Ivar was adjusting the straps around his legs after he had undone them to train. His brothers did not help him in the slightest, but she had a hunch that he didn't want their help in the first place. When she looked back at Bjorn, she shook her head, "I think I'm going to stay for a bit, then head home."

Bjorn had watched her gaze go towards his youngest brother. Nodding his head, he didn't say another word before turning and heading back to the city. Once he and the others were far enough away, Kára walked towards Ivar, but stopped about ten feet away.

"Why do you let them talk to you that way?"

Ivar froze, his shoulders squared up and his lips curled into his teeth. He wanted to pretend that she was not there. Sure, she humiliated Sigurd and Hvitserk, for reasons that elude him, but her show of skill had only served to annoy and make him resent her further. Her words in his bedroom that night still echoed in his mind, and now there was more proof that this girl was far better than him in something that he should be better at. What was worse was that seeing her hold the bow that he had took from her gave him a bit of shame. It clearly belonged to her; she gave it purpose when it was in her hands, whereas he failed just by holding it.

"Why do you care?" He asked bitterly, resuming his straps around his calves. "I thought I was no longer worth it?"

Kára found herself rolling her eye so hard that she felt it would roll behind her skull. This was not because of him, but because of herself. That night she had left with her dignity intact, and truly believed that Ivar the Boneless would no longer play a part in her life, despite their interactions only lasting two days. Evidently, he would be hard to ignore, especially if she wanted to be around Bjorn to learn about fighting. However, now she was in a dilemma, and her conscious was nagging at her to make the right choice. It had been a fortnight, but it was obvious that her words stung him deeply. Perhaps even so deeply that he needed to to prove her and everyone wrong about the man he will be.

Bjorn believed in him; Floki believed in him; his mother believed in him, but he found himself longing for the faith of others. He wanted, above anyone else, to have his father believe in him the way he believed in Ubbe, Hvitserk, Sigurd, and Bjorn. Now, though, he found himself wanting to prove his worth to this girl, who no longer looked the way she did when they had first met. She looked more woman than feral child, and he could plainly see her face now that it wasn't dirty. The dress she wore hugged her body, whereas the tunic and trousers she usually donned made her body look straight and boyish. Ivar found himself yearning to look at her, but he was adamant on doing the exact opposite.

The boy's back was to her, his eyes glaring at his leather-clad legs while he busied himself with the straps. She remained quiet, and he hoped this meant that she would leave him be.

"I care," her voice made him halt, but her words that followed after made him roll his eyes."I care that my bow is now in the hands of someone who can't even use it. And it bothers me that it's potential is wasted... So that is why I am going to teach you how to use it as well as I do."

Ivar slowly turned halfway around and looked at her over his shoulder with a furrowed brow, "What?"

Sighing, Kára picked up a few more arrows left on the ground and walked passed him towards the elevated tree stump that he had been sitting on before. "Pick up that bow, and come here before I change my mind."

Despite her impatience, Ivar understandably was hesitant, caught between his pride and his unwillingness to work with her. The temptation to scoff at her, tell her to fuck off, and then crawl back home was overwhelming, but Bjorn's voice rang in his mind.

_Allow yourself help from others, and you will reach your potential faster. This, I promise you._

The cripple sighed and began to drag himself over to her, and then hauled himself up, picking up the bow that laid idle against the bark. Without her telling him to do so, he was about to draw back the bow with an arrow already nocked.

"No," she flatly said, which made him pause and turn to glare at her.

"What did I do wrong?"

"Point it at the ground while you're placing the arrow, then aim," she explained.

"Why?"

"If you make a mistake, it will shoot into the ground. This way you avoid losing an arrow by mistake, or accidentally killing or injuring the wrong thing," Kára then nodded. "Try again."

Ivar let out a steady sigh through his nose, feeling regret seep through his veins. He did as she instructed, and pointed the arrow to the ground before lifting the weapon and aiming at the target. He released the arrow without her saying to do so; the string slapped his cheek and his wrist brace, and as predicted the arrow made a pitiful arch and landed in the ground to the far east of the target.

"Were you paying attention to your arrow?" She asked.

"Yes," he replied irritably, tilting his head to her. "It landed in the ground. Like the others."

"It wobbled," she ignored him. "In the air. You put too much vibration in the string, because you aren't holding the bow correctly. I told you this earlier."

"I am doing it exactly as Ubbe has instructed," Ivar insisted. "Hold straight, point the arrow where you want to hit."

Kára ran her hand down her face and shook her head, "The simplest way to explain it, only you weren't holding it straight, and pointing the arrow to your target isn't going to make it hit the target."

"Obviously," he muttered woodley.

"Pull back another arrow, this time don't let it go," she instructed after handing him another.

He listened, but his jaw was set and hard. Out of habit he leaned his head against the bowstring and closed one eye, but stopped himself from letting the arrow fly. The finger he held back the string twitched and struggled from the weight of the draw back.

"There," she began. "That's one of the reasons why the arrow wobbles. Hold the string with three fingers, not one, and pull it back further."

"It can't go back any further," he insisted. Ivar heard a sigh and her feet moving across the ground to right behind him. His muscles tensed when she gripped his hand that held the string, and pull out his fingers from his fist and forced them to wrap around the string with the back of the arrow nestled between his middle and pointer finger.

"Your form is wrong too. Your elbow is too high, and you're bending the other arm. You're trying too hard to control the bow, and not allowing it to become part of you," Kára began to adjust his arms in the properly position before taking his draw back hand and pulling the string a couple inches behind him. Ivar found himself allowing her to adjust his limbs to her specification, and enjoying the heat of her body so close to him. Every time exposed flesh touched his own, especially her fingers on his, he felt a hot sensation vibrate down his spine. A flash of recollection to the day she gave him a kiss came to mind, but that quickly disappeared the moment she pulled away.

"Now, breathe in, and as you breathe out relax your fingers to release," he listened to her instructions without question. Ivar's fingers relaxed and the force of the arrow flew past his cheek with minimal impact to his skin or forearm. It had gone so fast that Ivar hadn't fully processed that it had hit the wooden target until seconds after when the target relaxed in its swinging.

The arrow didn't hit the center, it was a bit south and and only five inches from the border, but he actually hit it. Kára watched him as he stared at the arrow with wide eyes. A small smile threatened to appear; she was happy, and she didn't know why. She told herself it was because she successfully taught someone something practical, but that wasn't entirely it. The look of awe in Ivar's face when he realized he actually hit the target was like watching hope lighting inside of him.

"That's better," Ivar heard Kára say behind him.

He turned around, and saw her looking at the arrow with her hands on her hips casually. "I didn't hit the center," his face dropped. "Even properly using a bow, I can't even hit my mark. I have terrible aim; not fit to be an archer."

Kára frowned at him and her arms slipped from her sides, "Do you think a competent archer just figures it out after one arrow?"

"You are younger than me, and you could do... _That,_ " he waved a finger over to the other targets where she had splintered Sigurd and Hvitserk's arrows in half.

" _That_ did not happen overnight, Ivar," she walked around the stump to stand in front of him. "Failure is not reason to give up. Failure is what motivated me to become better, and I accomplished that, and you will too. I've watched you with the axe, Ivar. You have impressive aim. The problem you hold with the bow, is that you are not factoring in the elements around you."

"What do you mean?"

"The arrow is light, it holds little weight compared to an axe, so the environment around it affects its destination. If the wind is moving against you, you will need to draw back further, and aim higher. If it is coming to your left, it will cause the arrow to land right of target. If it is coming from your right, the arrow will be on the left of the target. If the wind is behind you, the arrow will lift higher than your aim, so you must aim lower, and it will be faster, so it will have less control."

"And if there is no wind?"

"Then you rely purely on your eye and hand. A steady, straight arm and your good eye will aid you there," Kára bent down and picked up one of the arrows she had collected and handed it to Ivar, feather first.

Ivar looked at it, and then looked at her; his eyes were studying her, but not in a negative way. He had forgotten in the last minute that this girl was only a few moons younger than him, and yet she spoke to him as if she had ten years on him. She was speaking with a wisdom beyond her years. Floki had spoken to Ivar about people like her; not specifically who she was, but the energy that she gave off. People who had old souls, that were born to be skilled, intelligent, and how those people were favoured by the gods. Ragnar Lothbrok was one of those people, Floki had told him. Ivar asked if he was one of those people, and Floki simply smiled at him and tilted his head, eyes squinting in mirth.

Ivar reached and took the arrow from her offered hand and without hesitation he knocked the arrow, repeating each step she taught him in his head until he paused just before releasing it. The gentle breeze crept through the branches from the right of him; Ivar took in a deep breath, and then relaxed his fingers as he exhaled.

**_Do not doubt yourself._ **

The feather of the arrow ghosted his cheek, and he watched in slow anticipation as it flew in a straight line towards the wooden target. With a hollow 'thunk', the arrowhead embedded itself right in the center. 

* * *

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, one thing I will say in this chapter...yes, I may have... took a major inspiration from the movie Brave in this, but I couldn't help it, okay? It's my favourite scene in that movie, and I had all the ingredients to put in this story. So before y'all point that out, I'm just sayin'... it was intentional and I'm calling myself out on being unoriginal XD (sorta) 
> 
> I'm also gonna call myself out on Kara being a lil sueish here. I tried to make up for it a lil bit, but re reading it, I did realize I made her look like a showboat for the sake of making her appear better than everyone.
> 
> Also, a Vixen's Scream or call, is a female fox calling for a mate. It sounds like a woman dying, which is terrifying. Pheasants are common prey; like most small birds, they will fly away the moment the hear a sound of a known predator. Foxes are common predators to small prey, like birds, and I chose specifically a fox because of they remind me of Kara, specifically red foxes. One, for obvious reasons that she is a redhead, two, because foxes are wise and tactful, and cunning. They know how to use the environment around them in terms of survival and hunting. They're seen as tricksters because they blend well with their environment that their prey often dont see them coming. While Hulda, her mom, is more represented as a cat - mystical and mysterious, a connection to the gods (such as ancient Egyptians believed), her father, Ulf, as his name suggests, is more like a wolf or a dog; loyal, family-oriented, intelligent, and works best in a pack. Foxes might be canines, but they've always reminded me if a cat, domestic or wild, and a dog, or coyote or wolf could procreate, it would look like a fox.
> 
> One last thing, my knowledge of archery isn't exceptional. I do, do it. I'm not good at it, but I have got a few tips along the way. Everything Kara has said here is merely my knowledge and the bit of research I did to make sure I was right. If there are any experts reading this and if I made an error in anyway, please feel free to tell me, and I'll correct it. *


	8. 7: the uruz

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ivar becomes a hero, and is given a special gift by the Red Woman

  
  


The trees became greener, and the sun more orange as it stood above the heads of the people of Kattegat. The days were getting longer as they neared midsummer, which meant that soon Ragnar and his army would return to Paris. His warband seemed to become larger as more and more visitors docked at the port, which included King Harald Finehair and his brother, Halfdan the Black. Everyone was preparing with more vigor; after the failure of the last year, they wanted to return with a vengeance. Now, they would not underestimate the franks as they had before.

Ivar was one of the many who diligently prepared himself for the upcoming raid that would surely go down in history. He had spent the last week or so training with his brothers, and then privately taking lessons with Kára. She didn't have the sword prowess that his brothers had, but she did offer a lot of help with regards to repairing weapons, hunting, fishing, and survival tips. What kind of plants and things you could use to patch up an injury; how to make a temporary splint for a broken bone; what berries were poisonous, which ones you could eat, and what ones you could weaponize by tainting the tip of your arrows with it. All of this seemed to be common knowledge for everyone but the boys who grew up not needing to know these skills. The princes of Kattegat always had someone that could provide the finished product for them. Kára had explained that most of what she learned was by trial and error, but most of her healing knowledge came from her mother. Other times, especially in times when she had to repair something, she had to use what was available to her. For example, her iron arrowheads were old -- she had reused them for years. Every animal she had hunted, she would take the arrow from the body and reuse it. Her other arrows had ivory or bone heads, or simply sharpened ends of the wood.

It was on that bright day that Kára was showing Ivar how to fletch arrows, and learning how to make arrowheads with stone and bones. They sat on a fallen tree partially hidden under smooth large rocks that bordered the shoreline of the sea. They weren't too far away from Kattegat; they could see the docks a couple of fields away from where they sat, but they were isolated and far enough away that they couldn't hear the city's chatter. The shade of the trees that hung over them on raised land had shielded them from both the sun and onlookers, making this the ideal place for Ivar to struggle to make fletching.

The boy winced when he felt the tip of the dagger he was using nick his finger. He brought the digit to his eye and examined the droplet of red that contrasted against his skin. "This is the third time," he muttered before bringing the bleeding wound to his lips and sucked up the blood.

"It won't be the last time," Kára smiled to herself as she tossed a new arrow shaft ready for its fletching. She turned her head over to her companion and wiggled her fingers at him, which Ivar now realized was all nicked and littered with tiny white scars. "Once your fingers get calloused from them, it doesn't happen often. Your skin becomes thicker and stronger when it's scarred," she turned back around and grabbed another twig to be skinned.

"I think I can officially say that fletching is my least favourite thing," Ivar commented before grabbing another feather and carefully trimming them to a fine edge.

"It's not so bad," Kára shrugged. "It gives me time to think."

Ivar pulled the feather up to his eyes and examined it scrutinizingly. "Think about what?"

"Things."

"Things?"

"Do you think my mind is just blank half the time? Don't answer that--" she cut him off with a finger and a pointed look just as he opened his mouth to comment. Kára turned back around and looked out towards the sea. She gave another shrug with a single shoulder, "I just think about what it would be if my father was still alive."

Ivar paused what he was doing and shifted his blue eyes over to her. She sat just a little ahead of him, while he leaned against the incline of the hill of soil and rock behind him. After Ulf was mentioned at that dinner, Ivar had started to hear more about him; perhaps he was talked about before and Ivar had only been paying attention now, but it still felt like the man's name was brought up more often ever since Kára had entered into his life. Ulf was mentioned when comparing weapons with the current smiths, or when someone had an intricately carved statue or figurine they would claim it was made by Ulf the Silverhand.

"If your father was alive," Ivar began to speak after some thought, "You would not live in the forest, away from Kattegat." Kára turned to look over her shoulder at him. His eyes were looking at his feather and dagger as he continued, "Perhaps... we would have been able to know each other longer. We could have possibly been raised together while our fathers went raiding in England."

Kára blinked at Ivar as a sly smile slowly crept on her face, "Are you saying you enjoy my company so much you wished that we had known each other longer?"

Ivar looked up, heat rushing to his cheeks, but he quickly squared his shoulders and furrowed his brow at her, "Do not get ahead of yourself, Greenfoot. You are still annoying."

"You spend a lot of time with someone who annoys you," she scooted back from her sitting position so she was shoulder-to-shoulder with the prince. She turned her head to the left so that her chin was resting on her shoulder and batted her eyelashes at him, "You fancy me."

Ivar scoffed and threw the feather he was holding at her face. She giggled as she watched him pull himself up to a straighter sitting position. "If you recall, you're the one who kissed _me._ If there is anyone that fancies someone _here_ , it is _you_."

A rosey colour painted Kára's cheeks as she took the feather that he threw at her and twirled it in her fingers. It was true enough, she thought at that day he looked attractive and wanted to kiss him. Though her impression of him after that had changed to a rapid decline. Now, however, she was conflicted. He was nowhere as rugged as his brothers, but that was because he still held some youthful qualities yet to grow through; his blonde hair was darkening with his age, his cheekbones were getting sharper, but his arms were as thin as his legs. Well, that wasn't entirely true, especially since Ivar had started training with his brothers and learning archery from Kára. His biceps were getting larger, and his fingers were growing. He had a long way to go to even become as muscular as Ubbe was becoming, but was beginning to start. Ivar was still boyish, but to a girl his age, he was handsome.

Kára looked at the back of his head, which was freshly shaved, while his front remained long. It was the same hairstyle his brothers, save Sigurd, had. She wagered it was because he wanted to be more like them, and because it was getting hotter, so the close shave helped with the heat. Her eyes traveled back to the feather she was twirling, and another impish smirk blossomed on her face as she reached out with it and tickled the nape of his neck.

Ivar immediate shuddered and pulled away rapidly. He turned around immediately with an intense glare, only to see Kára with a shit-eating grin, relaxed against the the dirt and rock behind them. Without a word, he launched at her with hands aiming for her sides and underarms. The redhead squealed as Ivar met his aim and began to tickle her furiously. Kára twisted and curled her limbs into herself as she laughed and screeched from Ivar's fingers that dug under her arms to tickle her. She reached under her and began to tickle Ivar's stomach, and immediately he buckled away from her hands, giving his own yelp.

The two began to wrestle, arms wrapped around each other and fingers reaching out to assault each other's weak spots. They were a tangle of arms, laughter, and screeches, rolling off the log they sat on and soon found themselves in a tumble. They began to roll towards the shoreline of the beach; Ivar could feel the rocks hit and scratch at his face, little twigs breached the fabric of his clothes and poked at his skin. He winced when his legs hit a particularly sharp rock, and out of instinct he let go of Kára to grab the pained area, then used his other hand to dig into the ground to stop himself from rolling further down the incline. Kára didn't have enough time to react, though, and she kept rolling until she slipped off the rocks that bordered the shore and fell right into the water.

The depth of the water in this area of the beach was deep as the land was higher. There was no wind, but for someone who was afraid of the water it felt like the cold grip of Hel had wrapped her fingers around Kára's ankle and pulled her further into the ocean. The girl screamed as she scrambled to hold onto the rock that she fell over, but it was too slick to hold on to. Panic rippled throughout her body when her legs flailed under her and she could not feel the bottom. She screamed bloody murder, trying to claw at the surface of the water, but the waves began to slowly pull her away from the shoreline. Her fingertips barely brushed the surface of the beach rocks now, and with her muscles tensing and her blood rushing to her head, her body felt like lead.

Ivar watched in horror as Kára screamed and scrambled to keep herself afloat. The panic sounds she was making began to gurgle as water pooled into her open mouth with every tide that cloaked over her and the further her head was pulled under the surface. The pain in his thigh was immediately forgotten the moment Ivar sprung into action. Screaming her name, Ivar dung his fingers into the hard earth as he rapidly crawled over to the water's edge. Her fingers were barely touching the rock once he reached it, then suddenly it felt like the tide was getting stronger right in front of his eyes. It was as if the sea was taking her on purpose; taking claim of her body as if it waited for many years.

Kára felt the water freeze her body to sonte. Her breathing became short and her muscles tired from moving rapidly in attempt to keep itself afloat. It was becoming harder to breathe, not because of the water slipping into her throat, but because her heart and lungs were working in overdrive. When the water overlapped over her head, she was pulled under for a moment. The salt water stung at her eyes, forcing her to blink uselessly. A pale, bearded face appeared in front of her, floating in the murky sea water. His green eyes stared into her with lifelessness; bubbles from his mouth dripped from his open, blue lips, and got caught in the dark brown ribbons of his long dark hair that floated around his face. The girl's mouth opened in a scream, which allowed the water poured into her throat. A great spike of fear ran throughout her body, and she began to thrash around against the current. Her arms stretched out, trying to grab anything she could, but it was mostly met with empty air and water, until, that is, warmth gripped around her wrists. Kára blinked out the salty water from her eyes when she was lifted just over the surface, and saw the blurry image of Ivar hanging over the edge of the rock and holding onto her hand with both of his.

"Kára! Hold on!"

She quickly grabbed his wrists with both of her hands in desperation. Ivar curlsed his fingers around her tighter, then grit his teeth in a growl as he pulled her back to the rocks with as much strength as he could. The water made her feel heavier, especially as they crashed over her back and head and dragged back out. The muscles in his shoulders strained as he gave one last tug before the weight lifted and Kára was out of the water. Ivar rolled onto his back, and the girl toppled on top of him, coughing and gasping for air profusely. What took him off guard the most in that moment was when her arms and legs clung him.

She was crying into his tunic.

Ivar didn't know how to react, he was frozen on the spot, breathing hard from the adrenaline that filtered through him. He didn't know what to do, especially after what had just happened, and what she was doing. This was foreign to him in all angles he saw it; then it grew even more uncomfortable when she started to weep the words "why did you do it?" over and over again.

Not knowing what else to do, Ivar immediately thought to his mother, and what she would do during the times he had his tantrums. His arms slowly wrapped around her trembling body, squeezing her to his chest and resting his nose in her hair. The boy's eyes remained wide as he stared into nothingness, only listening to those five words over and over again through her cries and sobs.

**— — —**

It wasn't long after that they were found, but it felt like ages. Floki and Helga did not live too far from where they were, so they were the first to hear the screams from their house. The couple had arrived to the scene, their eyes widen once they realized what they were looking at. Floki looked from the two kids tangled on the floor, to the water that soaked the earth around them. Ivar looked at him with no words, and nonwords were given, save for the muttering of the redheaded girl. Floki quickly bent down and scooped up Kára after prying her arms off of Ivar. He pulled her close to him, and the girl crippled into his chest once he stood up. Floki quickly handed her to Helga, who took her immediately into her arms, then he bent down and picked and hoisted Ivar over his shoulders.

It had been some time since they got to Floki's house by the shore, where the sea caved into a bay of sorts that lead to the river. Many of Floki's ships, both finished and works in progressed bobbed in the water like vigilant dragons watching over their brood. Helga had stripped Kára from her damped clothes and put one of her apron dresses on her, then wrapped her in thick wools, and put her down to sleep. Ivar remained outside, sitting on a chopping block, staring at the coastline that peaked between thin limbed trees. Helga had left as soon as the redhead and fallen asleep from exhaustion, and immediately took off in the direction of Hulda's hut, which was a mile away.

Floki dragged a bench over and sat down next to him, then looked out in the same direction as the boy. The viking plopped a bundle of arrows, some finished and others needing fletching, on the ground. When Ivar looked down at them, he recognized them as the ones that he and Kára were working on before it happened.

"How are you doing, Ivar?" Floki's soft voice broke the silence.

"I do not know," he furrowed his brow and hugged his arms tighter around himself. "I do not know what just happened, or how it happened." Floki let the silence fill the space again, for a moment, until Ivar turned to look at him. "How is...How is she doing?"

"She will survive."

"Is she hurt?"

Floki's eyes softened when he looked at Ivar, whose face was full of concern. His large hand clasped the young one's shoulder and he gave him a smile. "No. She's a strong one."

Ivar squared his shoulders and took a deep sigh before looking back at the sea. "You should have seen her, Floki. I've never seen someone so terrified... What is wrong with her?"

Floki let a steady breathe through his nose as his hand slipped from the boy's shoulder. He looked at his dirty fingernails from long hours of work and imagined the hands of his friend, Ulf, who always made sure his hands were clean before he went to work. "Her father drowned in the lake in the middle of winter. The ice caved under him, and the water swallowed him," his reply pulled Ivar's attention back away from the landscape and onto his mentor. The viking peaked at the boy through his lashes, "Ulf took his own life. Somehow his daughter had inherited a natural fear to the water, even before she knew."

Ivar blinked slowly as he processed this information. He suddenly remembered that he had heard this before from his brothers, but he didn't know about it was Ulf's own doing. Ivar still didn't understand how Kára could be afraid of the water if she wasn't even born when it happened, or even just understanding that it wasn't an accident. Ulf willfully went out on thin ice, and let it collapse under him. It was a strange way to take your own life, Ivar thought, but perhaps there was some poetic irony he didn't know about.

But, realistically, how could he judge Kára? The water was one of his greatest fears, but for a more rational reason. There was no way he would be able to swim with his legs. He's floated in water that was no more than three feet or less, and most of the time it was in the wooden tub that was made specifically for him. Though the thought of being in open sea, being caught in a storm, and then falling overboard terrified him more than he realized until that moment. Truthfully, would he even survive mentally if he were to go with his father and brothers back to Paris? And Odin forbid, if there is a storm that tosses him overboard, and kills him.

Ivar stared hard into the ground at his feet, his mind flooded with images of the event that happened not too long ago. He remembered her words clearer now than he had did then: "why did you do it?" In light of what Floki had just told him, he now understood the context of the question. It was a valid question indeed, and it seemed that not even Ulf's own daughter knew the answer.

He turned his chin back at Floki, "why did he do it?"

The man's lips turned into a fine line beneath the whiskers of his mustache. His eyes flickered away from the boy and back at his fingers, before moving the didgets over his scalp. "Intelligent men tend to not always be the happiest of folk," he finally replied with a soft tone. "All it takes is one seed on the back of the overpacked muel to break it's back."

Ivar opened his mouth to ask Floki to elaborate, but the sound of footsteps came within ear shot, and the two men turned around to see Helga in tow with the Red Woman. Hulda immediately went to Floki the moment he stood up to greet her. Her face was like a stone dam with water leaking through the cracks, threatening to push the wall down. There was worry there, but she wanted to show some composure.

Ivar twisted his body to look over at her as she gripped Floki's forearms and whispered what he assumed were questions about what happened. Floki answered and then looked over to Ivar, who blinked at the audience. Hulda's eyes softened when she looked at them, and took no hesitation as she floated over, knelt down on her knees and took his hands in hers. Ivar froze under her gaze, which at this moment didn't look as intimidating as they seem to be before. They were the most familiar eyes he, as a child, would know: the eyes of a mother.

"You saved her life, Ivar," her fingers brushed around his hairline as gently as the brush of a dandelion. The boy felt goosebumps litter his arms from the electricity he felt from her. That must be the magic she held; it made the blood in his veins pump, and fill him with both freight and wonder. "For this, I will give you something that was taken away from you many seasons ago."

Confusion was in his eyes, and it only increased when she reached around her own neck and pulled a string over her head and put it over his. He looked down and saw a piece of petrified wood with the Uruz rune carved into it. Ivar lifted his confused eyes up at her, and found her leaning in to kiss his forehead, then gave him one last look before standing up and going towards the house.

Ivar and Floki shared a look once the woman was out of sight, and all the latter could do was reach out with a tight smile and run his hand over the boy's head. Ivar looked down at the necklace once again, his fingers brushing through the carving in contemplation. This was a rune of Freya's Ætt. Floki had taught him. What that meant to Ivar was lost to him; he knew it was the wild ox, but what did it have to do with 'something that was taken away from him many seasons ago'. Nevertheless, he curled his fingers around the piece gently, and looked back up to see the woman in red cradling her daughter in her arms, and nodded at the three others before leaving in silence.

* * *

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uruz Rune - Uruz Rune is like a lop sided lower case n. It means he Auroch, which is a wild ox that went extinct in the 17th century. Uruz represents physical, mental strength, and endurance. For men, specifically, it represents manhood. 
> 
> I chose this rune specifically to foreshadow the changes I'm making from canon. This is not a spoiler, because I already mentioned this in the prologue in my disclaimer.


	9. 8: the rite of passage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ivar and Sigurd get their armrings, and Ragnar announces that he plans to return to Paris. Kara learns something upsetting, making her entire life spiral out of control.

  
  


"Firstly, I want to announce that we leave for Paris in 3 weeks to the day."

This statement was the first catalyst to a long string of new beginnings that day in Kattegat. When Ragnar announced that they would officially leave for Paris in nearly a moon's time, the energy in the Longhouse bloomed tenth fold. Kára had sat next to Ivar at the table, looking up towards the two thrones where Ragnar and Aslaug were seated. The house was full of people drinking and eating, and bustling servants and slaves weaved through everyone to fill horns of ale or mead, or bring bread and cheese to a table that had run out. Kára understood why her mother hated attending crowded evenings such as this, especially now that Kattegat hosted many men this midsummer. Namely the self made king, Harald Finehair and his brother Halfdan the Black-- neither of which Kára was overly fond of. She heard Harald's ambitions was to become king of all Norway, which meant that he was an enemy of Ragnar, even though he did not act like it, and that put her on edge. He had a plan of some sort, and his appearance now that Ragnar is not at his full strength was a little too convenient.

It wasn't her day; the noise, the crowd, the everything, was making her feel ill. She had tried to eat, but found herself at a loss for appetite, and instead was nursing a cup of warm mead in hopes it would soothe her stomach.

Ragnar had more plans that night other than to announce the date of when they'd depart; he called upon his two youngest sons, Sigurd, and Ivar, and bestowed upon them their arm rings. It was then that Kára lifted up her head and watched in mild envy as the boys beamed at their marks of finally being a man. As a girl, she would not receive an arm ring, a fact that had bothered her more than it should. The arm ring marked a warrior to its king, but she was more interested in the warrior part. That part was complicated; she could not be a viking if she could not go out to sea, even if she was allowed an arm ring, but it was her dream nonetheless.

Regardless of her feelings, she offered Ivar a small smile of pride as he came crawling back to his spot and marveled at the gift he was given.

"Do you think this means he will take me to Paris?" He asked, his fingers running across the intricate designs.

"Do you think Queen Aslaug will let you?" Kára asked out loud, then took a sip of her mead. It came out harsher than she intended, which she quickly realized by the furrowed brow on Ivar's forehead. But his expression just stemmed from the realization that she was right. His mother would never let him go.

Kára glanced over at the king and queen, and saw that they exchanged a few words; words Aslaug did not take kindly of. She jutted her chin at Ragnar with her eyes sharp as ever, but by the look on the man's face, he did not care. He collapsed on his throne with his horn, and ignore her snarl. When she turned away from him, Aslaug's eyes caught Kára's and the poisonous look she had was startling. She did not know if the look was just the residue of her conversation with Ragnar, or if in some part it was directed at her. Either way, it did not matter, because her eyes were already off of her in the same second.

Ivar's fingers moved from the arm ring to the rune around his neck as his thoughts began to wonder with the white noise of chatter in the hall. It seemed to grow ever since Ragnar had spoken; spirits were easily lifted when summer made the days grow longer and the promises of epic raids in new lands were just on the horizon. Everyone seemed in a fairly good mood, including Ivar. Everyone, except for the girl who sat beside him, who was making designs with the crumbs of bread on her plate.

Kàra had a permanent frown on her face.

Ever since that day at the beach, Kára's attitude had changed, but in a slow decline. The first time Ivar saw her after that day, she was more aloof than normal, but she was quickly thrown into the work of training that eventually things went back to normal. Ivar decided not to question her about it, mostly, because it was an area that he didn't know how to approach. Besides, if the situation were reversed, he would have appreciated not having the topic brought up.

Just when things were going back normal, Kára's attitude became bleeker and more harsh. If something happened, she wasn't telling him, and he didn't want to press, mostly out of fear of her screaming until his ear bleeds.

"Did you see Sigurd's arm ring?" Ivar began talking, his fingers back to playing with his bracelet. "It's not as nearly as beautiful as mine. He's got some wonky looking lizard heads on the ends, and mine--"

"They're not lizards," Kára sighs irritably, and pulls her head up from her folded arms. She glanced over at Sigurd, who was standing far enough that he could not hear them. "They're dragons, because of his name"

"No, mine are--"

"Yours are snakes," she pointed out, looking over to Ivar, her tone flat.

Ivar's mouth fell in a firm line as he rolled his eyes and curled his fingers into his palm. Her words and unexplained rancorous tone was testing his patience at this time. Ivar was having a rather good day; his father bestowing this arm ring to him made it so. It was more than a symbol, but an acknowledgement from a man he respected more than anyone, and the ring was also a crowning jewel of achievement.

And Kára was ruining his pleasant day.

"Why must you ruin this? This is important to me," He asks in a firm, yet low tone so their words were only heard between them. Not that it would be noticeable through the loud laughing and drunken singing.

"It's important to you, to be better than Sigurd?" She asks, her brows twisting in a furrow.

"No," Ivar nearly rolled his eyes. "What is important to me is this arm ring... I have been looking forward to this day, for a long time, and you act like a sour old crone."

"How do you wish me to react, Ivar? Every boy in Norway is given an arm ring when he becomes of age. It is not an act of great feat or an accomplishment."

Agitated at her apathy and offended by her words, Ivar's voice rose a tad higher as he scrutinized her fully. It was obvious, moreso after her words, why she was so bitter this evening. He turned his body fully to her and picked up his mug of mead.

"I see what the problem is," he lifted his shoulders in a shrug as he continued. "You are jealous. You are jealous that you will never be given an arm ring... Because you are a _girl._ Girls do not have rights of passages, like we men do, and" he leaned into his cup and took a loud, obnoxious sip. "We all know how much you wish you were one."

Ivar wasn't one to regret many things, especially whatever came out of his mouth, however, this was different. He felt the dread ripple through his flesh the moment Kára's head turned to him agonizingly slow, and the lethal look in her eye was alike the glare of Fenrir when he was tricked into his chains.

And poor Ivar happened to be Týr, with his hand in her mouth.

Kára's hand curled around her hot drinking horn; she felt the muscles in her arms and fingers twitch, and as she was just about to toss the content's right into Ivar's face, a hand landed on her shoulder and a familiar voice brought her back to reality.

"Kára," The girl in question looked up to see the disapproving look of her mother, her face partially hidden under that red cloak. When had she arrived was one question, how she came in unnoticed with another. It was as if she wore a cloak of invisibility until she chose to reveal herself. Her sudden presence did not go unnoticed now that she had spoken, especially by those that were closest. Chatter had quieted a fraction, but there was still white noise in the longhouse.

Kára's eyes shifted from her mother to over to the dais where the King was staring openly at the Red Woman with a look of surprise, but it was nothing in comparison to the look on the Queen's face. Ragnar immediately stood from his throne and walked down the dais, which had quieted the longhouse completely.

"You have come," he pointed out. "I did not think you would."

Hulda's hands moved from her daughter's shoulder and crossed it with the other on her lap, "I have not attended a Thing in quite some time. And," her eyes moved with ease towards the woman sitting in the other throne. "It is about time to see old friends."

Aslaug's mouth shrunk to a firm line before it forced itself to smile. Knowing what was expected to her, she pulled herself from the throne and joined her husband in front of Hulda. These two women had not stood in front of each other since Siggy had died, which felt like a hundred years ago. However, despite the pleasant smiles, there was a toxic air that began to suffocate those that were next to them.

"Hulda, my friend," Aslaug's teeth flashed in a wider smiler and her arms reached up to take the other woman's forearms; Hulda did the same. "It is a pleasure, an honour, and a delight that you have come to visit Kattegat."

Ragnar reached to his harness where his horn of wine was, and took a large gulp.

"This visit will be prolonged, my friend," Hulda's smile was gentle, but her eyes were knowing. She could read through Aslaug's fake words and smiles, but her heart carried no ill will for the woman. After many years of isolation, Hulda mourned the loss of their friendship, and the woman Aslaug used to be. Aslaug had become a bitter person, a spiteful queen, and a lonely soul, who had nothing but her sons and an estranged marriage.

"In light of the forthcoming raids to Paris," the witch's voice grew louder for all to hear. "I will bring counsel, wisdom, and anything I can give in aid to this great return."

There was a roar of applause; pitchers being hit against wooden tables, drunken shouts, cheers, and hands drumming on surfaces. A reaction that was predictable and justified, and yet it greatly displeased Aslaug. The queen strongly considered herself a woman of magic, often claiming to be völva as well, but the title had never stuck. Aslaug was a married woman and chose to only use her shamanistic gifts for herself, her family, and to gain status rather than aid and help others. Because of this, she could not be wand-wed, and as a result no one saw her as a völva, not even her husband. Aside from that, Aslaug had prided herself to be a great aid to her husband's ambitions, and the raids that had profited Kattegat for years. So, the grand applause for Hulda felt like a slap in the face.

It seemed Ragnar knew how much this would wound her pride, because he put insult to injury when he moved over and offered his seat at the throne to Hulda. The Red Woman took his seat graciously and without hesitation. With great dissatisfaction, Aslaug sat next to her. The tension was as thick as the boar that was served that evening, but aside from the unsuspecting guests that continued to drown themselves in ale and mead, only Ragnar seemed not to be bothered with it. In fact, the smirk he hid behind the rim of his cup showed he was amused by it.

Ivar was aware of the awkwardness as well, so much that his earlier dispute with Kára had been forgotten. His brow furrowed in confusion when his father had offered the woman his seat, but did not question it. He remembered Floki's words about respecting the völur, and that it was common for them to be treated as nobles when they enter a stronghold.

Kára was less confused about how they treated her mother, and more about the dynamic between her mother and Queen Aslaug. She shared a look with Ragnar who passed behind her, and disappeared into the crowd to join Floki and his oldest son on the other end. It was as if he planted the seeds of a chaotic event and just left for it to grow and blossom on its own. The ominous feeling in her stomach had intensified the more she looked about the longhouse and felt that it would soon become the scene of a pandamonium.

She sensed a change in the wind.

The girl moved her legs over the bench and stood up from her seat. Ivar's attention was brought back to her in that moment, and noticed her demeanor changed dramatically. Her face was hard, but not angry, almost worried, but also calculating.

"What is wrong?"

Kára ignore him and walked up the dais and over to Hulda's side, "Mother, I'm ready to go home."

Hulda looked at her strangely and reached up to touch her face, finding it a bit warm. "Are you ill, my child?"

"She had been drinking hot mead all evening," Aslaug answered, bringing her goblet to her lips idly. "The drink can go straight to your head if you drink it too fast, my dear."

Hulda looked at Aslaug, almost making a comment about how she would know best, but kept her lips closed. Her attention went back to her daughter, and brushed her fingers through her hair and tucked it behind her ear.

"Why don't you sit on my lap, sweet dove, and rest your head. We were just about to talk about old times," Hulda's voice was gentle and lulling, enough to calm Kára for her to relent and slowly ease around the arm rest and relax in her mother's lap. The warmth that radiated off of her was comforting, but she was also facing Aslaug and that made her feel small.

Hulda draped her arm around the girl, her long sleeve acting like a blanket over her legs, but also like a shield. Her attention drew back to her old, estranged friend, who looked different yet the same. Those high cheekbones, sharp eyes, full lips, and long neck did not change. Aslaug had always been an exceptional beauty, to a degree of unworldliness. It was not a shock that she drew Ragnar's attention. However, the lines in her face not only betrayed age, but stress. Aslaug was not a happy woman; Hulda remembered that light of happiness faded away when she was pregnant with Ivar, and what was left died the first year of his painful life.

Aslaug openly examined the mother and daughter sitting beside her. Her lips twitched, threatening to fold into a frown. There was some jealousy in her, but the origin of it was ambiguous. At a certain extent, she envied that Hulda had a daughter, and she did not. She was blessed with four sons, all who would become as great as their father, which was a great gift from the gods. However, that was a gift to Ragnar, and not her. A daughter, whom she can impart her divine wisdom to, would be a gift to herself. Ivar, her youngest, was beginning to pull away from her, as most boys do from their mothers. With daughters, the bond lasted far longer. Ivar and kára were roughly the same age, and yet the times when he sat on her lap had long passed.

Aslaug gave a sigh as her twitching lips gave in and pulled into a falsely kind smile, "Motherhood has always suited you, Hulda. You remind me so much of your mother, it is as if I'm sitting next to her right now."

Despite the deceptive smile, Hulda appreciated the comparison. Torunn was a fierce, maternal woman. She had taken care of many children, not only her own, and both her magic and strength weaved into one. While Hulda's father often left them to raid with their earl's warband, Torunn remained untouchable. She was a sow, protecting her cubs. Much was learned by her; Hulda learned a great deal of magic and the gods from her, and Sigrún had adopted their mother's strength and surpassed her skill in such a short amount of time. During her mother's twilight years, Sigrún had taken the position of protector, since many deviants had taken advantage of Torunn's weaken state.

"It is a shame you did not have more children," Aslaug had added after the beat of silence. This time her eyes were casted down to her hands, that cradled her goblet in her lap. That comment was not as appreciated.

"The gods had a plan for me," Hulda replied, her fingers stroking the knee of her daughter. "It took some time and sacrifice for me to realize that, but the path to our destiny is never laid out evenly for any of us."

"Your words hold great wisdom. I do not know if I would have taken to your losses as gracefully as you have done, Hulda," these words were the most honest that Aslaug had spoken. When her eyes lifted from her goblet and onto the Red Woman, they were softer, as if the past had caught up with her and pulled her heart into a bittersweet embrace of regret and sadness. "I've never formally given you my condolences. It had broken my heart hearing of Sigrún, as you know she was like a sister to me. And for your dear Ulf, I wept when I learned of his death. However, it is Eirik's sacrifice that had grieved me the most. He had saved my life and the life of my sons."

Kára's ears had perked. She had begun to relax, and almost drift off, but the moment that name was mentioned, the muscles in her body stiffened. She recognized the name when Bjorn had mentioned it, and given that who ever Eirik was, was close to her father, the chances that Aslaug was talking about anyone else was slim. It had surpass curiosity at this point; what Kára felt was suspicion.

"Who is Eirik?" The girl spoke this burning question.

Hulda had also stiffened, because the answer to that question was something she had thought she ever had to answer, nor thought she had the needed to. Though now, of all times, it had presented itself in a less than perfect setting. Aslaug's eyes shot towards Kára like lightning from the surprise. Her mouth opened to answer, but found no words to form. The queen looked back at Hulda.

"You've never told her?"

Those words were enough to make Kára rise from her place in her mother's lap. Her heart began to pump in anticipation, and the uncomfortable ache in her stomach bloomed.

Her wide, teal eyes fluttered between the two woman, "Never told me what?... Mother?"

Hulda's mouth was partially agape, her eyes slightly panicked at the sudden calamity of the situation. The brief suspicion of Aslaug having planned this was not lost on her, but she doubted how much the woman even knew how Hulda raised her daughter.

But, it would seem that regardless of how little Aslaug knew of the situation, she was going to manipulate it with the pieces that were given to her.

The queen looked at Kára with a calm expression, her body sitting straight in order to be leveled with the girl, who stood before the thrones. "Child, Eirik is your brother."

Hulda's mouth clamped shut, her temper rising at the audacity of Aslaug's insensitive interference. With the girl's mother sitting right there, it was not her job to out this information. It wasn't hers to tell in any situation or setting, unless Hulda was incapable doing it herself. Though, on some dark level, that was done with purpose. Had it come out of the lips of Hulda, the truth wouldn't be much of a blow, but coming out of the mouth of a third party made it so much worst. In the end, it had the desired effect.

Kára acted accordingly; she was already in a sour mood, Aslaug had noted earlier, and she used that as a tool to put Hulda in her place. It was petty, but the queen wouldn't admit to the malevolent intention she had. It was true, though, she did not know the level of Kára's ignorance of her mother's past, but it was an opportunity she took advantage of. Hulda had always presented herself perfectly, and the closeness she had with her daughter reignited the fire under Aslaug. She was sorely reminded of how much envy she had for her old friend, even as they were children. All of Aslaug's sons do not respect her in the way she would like; Ubbe had grown out of her quickly and looked up more to his half brother, Bjorn, than he did his own mother, and Hvitserk was no different. Sigurd was falling out of her fingers at a rapid pace and she could feel the coldness from him as the seasons go by. Ivar was her one and only, and yet he threatened to pull himself away from her, especially ever since he met Hulda's daughter. In the Queen's mind, it wasn't fair.

Kára's eyes were wide and wild as she whipped her head towards her mother. The conversation was quiet enough to not gain an audience by their patrons, but by the sheer volume of a small girl's voice, the longhouse silenced almost immediately and all heads turned to the dais.

"What more have you been keeping from me, mother?! Is there any more family members you are keeping from me?"

"Kára, you must understand--" Hulda sat up straight and tried to take her daughter's hands, but the girl pulled away.

"I am tired of your words," her voice was lower, her face twisted in anger and her eyes began to water. "I'm tired of you," she stepped off the dais in a sprint, pushing through large bodies to make it towards the exit.

Hulda immediately pulled herself from the throne and picked up her skirts. The crowd immediately parted for her to pass, but the moment that she reached the door where Kára had disappeared, a body blocked her path and a hand pressed against her shoulder.

"Let me pass, Ragnar!"

"Look at me," he whispered in a commanding voice. "I said _look at me._ "

His tone was startling enough for her to quickly turn her face to him. In this moment, in the shine of his bright blue eyes, Hulda could see the man Ragnar had always been. They were clear and dominate, like they were the day she met him.

"Let her go," the king muttered.

"She needs me," Hulda's voice was soft and desperate.

Ragnar shook his head slightly, "You need her."

The völva's jaw hardened before it slacked, and in a final moment of defeat, she brought her gaze down to the floor as she stepped away from Ragnar.

**— — —**

Her head and chest felt heavy, but her feet felt light. The speed behind her legs carried her right through Kattegat within minutes, but that wasn't without effort. Tears blinded her, and in her hysterics she paid little attention to obstacles or the direction she was going. At some point she heard yelling as something fell in a clatter behind her, but it was all moot to her.

Kára's breathing became laboured as she soon realized she had been running uphill. Angrily, she rubbed the tears from her blurred eyes by the sleeve of her tunic and looked around to where she was. The trees were sparse as they grew on the side of the cliffside she had been running up. From where she stood, she could see the city, lit up by sconces and lanterns littered around. The sun had fully set by now, which blanketed the sky in dark purple. Few stars were out that night, due to the heavy clouds that slowly rolled by. Kára growled once she remembered what brought her here, and her determination to distance herself from her mother came back. Now on all fours, she scaled the incline of the cliff.

Eventually the the top could be seen, and just there sitting in the hollow of the sloping fields was a quaint wooden cabin with a faint orange hearthlight peeking through the cracks. She knew of this place, for some reason. An image of herself, much smaller than she was now, stood in front of that threshold in the arms of her mother. A voice, deep, raspy, and ancient, invited them in.

Kára heard that voice once more when she stood in front of that wooden door. Her was frozen and her stomach still ached, but her hands moved on their own as they pushed it open. The inside was dark, save for the small hearthfire. It was enough to see the vertebrae hanging on threads from the ceiling, and the stag, goat, and ram heads that decorated the walls. Inside smelled like burning herbs and medicine, but also a dampness that could only be associated with something very old.

She saw him there, sitting upon his bed of furs and wool, just by the light of his pale face that was tainted by black upon his thin lips. The muscle of his brow was thick and pulled over where his eyes would have been, and left only tiny holes that could do nothing to aid his vision.

"I knew I would see you again, Kára Ulfsdóttir," he was facing her direction, and yet there was no way he knew it was her unless he foresaw it.

"You know who I am?" She at some point closed the door behind her, and now found herself walking around the bed, and sat herself in front of him.

"You have met me once," his face followed her as she moved. "But I have met you several times before."

Kára furrowed her brow, "What does that mean?"

"It means exactly how it sounds," he breathed.

She fought the urge to roll her eyes. Hulda had told her about the Seer and his riddles and vague predictions, and how it frustrated more than helped people. At least she spoke truth at least once.

"So tell me, Daughter of Ulf, why have you come to me this evening?"

Kára looked around the room once again, and then at her hands. She lifted her shoulders and sighed, "I'm not sure. I just ran here."

The Seer made some sort of sound of understanding, and in the dark she could see his black mouth stretch into a smile, "I know why you are here. You are here, because you seek knowledge of yourself, that which your mother has been unwilling to share with you."

His words immediately perked her up, "Will you tell me?"

"I can tell you what I am allowed to tell you," he replied flatly. "The gods gave me permission to answer your questions to a degree. The rest is not for me to tell you."

"Who could answer those questions, if not you? My mother?"

"No," he replied lowly, "The only person that could answer those questions is the woman in the water."

_The woman in the water?_ Kára's mind was frantic was questions. She had a feeling that by the time she left the house, she would only get more questions than answers. "How many questions can I ask you?"

The Seer breathed loudly through his mouth and nose, and then turned towards the ceiling blindly. After a moment or two he turned his head back down towards her, "Three."

Kára bit her lip and looked around the room again in thought. There were many questions she needed answers to, but to prioritize three was difficult.

"Why did my father kill himself?"

"Your father killed himself, because he had shadows in his mind that would not leave him alone. They reached for the best parts of him from all corners of his body. One day when he acquired a truth he could not handle and that was when those shadows took control of his legs and feet, and walked him to the lake, where he always felt at peace, and drowned him in ice and darkness."

Kára pursed her lips and looked down at her hands. Her face felt hot, and her nose tingled as the threat of tears came once again. Her twitching fingers reached up to her face as she roughly rubbed her eyes and took a shaky breath in attempt to steady her quivering throat and lungs.

"What was the truth he was told?"

The Seer hesitated before speaking, "The gods have decided that is not for me to share."

She bent her head down and rubbed the area between her eyebrows in frustration. Again, her mind began to frantically collect the many questions she had, but she found herself prioritizing questions that perhaps not even her mother would know.

"I've been having dreams that I'm in a battlefield; first I am flat on my black on a field of grass, and blood is all over my face. When I get up, I see a man with blue eyes charging at me. Just before I feel his sword in my stomach, I wake up. Why do I keep dreaming about this?"

"You are seeing your death," his answer was simple and blunt, but it made Kára's blood run cold once the realization sunk in.

Death was an inevitability, and many men look forward to it, especially if they are to die on the battlefield. However, what made it less frightening was not knowing when, where, or how it would happen, it was not knowing at all. Having that knowledge, it seemed for Kára, made it all the more frightening. Truthfully, she had not pictured herself dying on the battlefield, since she was not a fighter. She had thought she would die as a result of a wolf or bear attack, or from old age by sheer stubbornness of unwillingness to die. But as a child herself, death still seemed like a fairy tale, and aside from animals, she had not seen a human being die in front of her to show the frailty of mortality.

"Why does the water terrify me?"

"Because," he breathed heavily. "Water is your grave."

Kára blinked at him and opened her mouth before closing it. She didn't understand him. He just told her that she was going to die in a battlefield, surrounded by plains of grass, and now he says that water is her grave.

"You just told me that--"

"Your three questions have been answered, child," he moved his limbs closer to himself as he prepared to curl back onto the bed of furs. "The gods have allowed those answers, and it is wise not to become greedy of knowledge, unless you are willing to give up an eye for it."

"Please, just one more question! Will I be like my father?"

The Seer paused and peered at her through the holes in the skin folds of his face. The cabin was filled with the gentle crackle of hearthfire, and the clinking of river rocks and bones brushing together from the gentle wind that slipped through the cracks of the wood.

"Your future has not been released to me, Kára Ulfsdóttir. Not even Freya is privy to your fate... Only you must decide who you want to be: defined by the past, or designed for the future. Your decision, my girl, begins on the night of the Blood Moon."

Kára blinked slowly as she processed his words to the best of her ability. Her young mind could not fully comprehend the meaning of them, but she knew that clear answers were not going to be given to her. In a small voice, she asked her final question, "When will that be?"

His head declined in a slight bow, his hood casting large shadows across his disfigured face. "It has already begun."

Right then, a sharp pain hit Kára's abdomen, as if she had been stabbed. Like lightning, it shot down her spine and lit her core on fire. It was a pain like she had never felt before.

* * *

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, unlike boys, women never had a rite of passage where'd they were given an armring as a symbol of their coming of age and their loyalty to their stronghold. But this is because girls have their own rite of passage already, and that is ... you guessed it, their period.
> 
> Now a heads up, the next chapter is 100% Kara, but it's really important for everyone to read it. I've written fics before where people completely skip over a chapter just because it doesn't have the romantic pairing in it at all, or they skip the flashbacks. This irritates me the most, because not only are these people missing massive plot and character developments, but I worked hard and took time to write this, and to have it skipped over makes me want to stop writing the story. 
> 
> Chapter nine is a very important chapter. Chapter ten will mark the end of this first story arc once I hammer the last couple of nails in it, which means 10 and 11 will probably be very long.


	10. 9: the blood moon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Guided by the blood moon, Kara must endure the rite of womanhood by herself in the forest.

  
  


The moon was full and red in the sky. It's false sunlight was her only light in the darkness of the night. No stars could be seen that evening; the clouds seemed to pile themselves in the sky in thick clusters. It was only the blood moon that could be seen glowing through the curtains of clouds. There was very little to help navigate the environment, especially in the forest. Kára had lost direction the moment she fled the Seer's hut with her arm clutching her stomach as if she had been stabbed. In her pain and hysterics, she didn't consider the direction she was going until she found herself in the eerie quietness of the forest. The red alder and birch trees jutted out of the earth like spikes in perfect alignment. Everything looked the same.

Kára stopped running and whipped her head around, expecting to see something she recognized. The left, the right, behind her, and in front of her all looked the same. White-barked trees surrounded her. She looked up and saw that the sky was nearly cloaked entirely in dark grey clouds; there were no stars to help her find her way back, the only thing left in the sky was the blood moon.

Pressing the heels of her palms to her eyes, she cursed herself at being so stupid. Kára let out a groan of pain as the scorching heat in her abdomen increased, causing her to buckle onto the floor on her knees.

What was this pain? Why was she feeling it? Was she dying?

Kára curled into herself on the floor with her hands between her legs, and whimpered and cried through the wave of pain. It felt like hot pokers were scraping her insides slowly and continuously. What was this curse? What was this disease? How could she make it stop? Her body was on fire, while being maimed and flayed from the inside out. And while her body was in pain, her mind was frantic with jumbles of thoughts and emotions. Words echoed in her mind while a headache bloomed at her temples, and with it came her anger and frustration.

With her teeth gnawing on her lip to stop herself from crying out in pain, Kára remained in the soil in a fetal position. Time had passed, but she didn't know for how long. She might have fallen asleep at some point, but she couldn't be sure. The pain had slowed down to a dull ache, but still too uncomfortable to warrant a move from her spot. Sleep must have taken her, because a crack of thunder had shook her to full consciousness. When her eyes snapped open, the forest was blanketed in fog and the wind that wafted through the alder and birch trees carried a dampness.

A storm was coming.

Kára uncurled herself from the ground and stood up slowly. Her entire body felt stiff and sore, but whether that was from her running for as long and as fast as she did, or from the assault on her organs, she didn't know. The girl took a deep breath and looked up at the sky once again, but it was still too hard to see. The moon lurked behind the moving clouds, but it was bright enough to see the light of its existence. The world might be filled with fog in that moment, but right now she was thinking a little bit more clearly.

The moon, where it stood, it was not centered. And the trees-- there was moss growing on them from the spring showers. That was north. Now, all she had to do was follow the moon's direction, to the west, and she would find the river, or the lake.

With this plan in mind, Kára sighed a shaky breath and ran her fingers through her hair only to feel something wet once her tips touched her forehead. Slowly she brought hand down to eye level, but in the dark her hand appeared completely black. She rubbed her fingers together to feel the thick moist substance. It was just then that the clouds moved away from the pale light of the moon, which casted a perfect light upon her fingers, and the first thing Kára saw was red. Her entire hand was coated in clotted blood.

Kára's immediate reaction was that at some point she bumped her head without realizing it, so she went to reach her forehead with her other hand only for her to see the blood coated on that one as well. The pain gradually began to return to her stomach, and suddenly she felt the warmth drain from her veins. Slowly, she lowered her hands to between her legs and immediately felt the hot, soaking fabric of her trousers.

"No," she uttered. Panic began to pump her heart rapidly.

She was a healer's daughter. Most girls wouldn't know what was going on, but Kára knew where the blood was coming from. It wasn't an open wound, it wasn't from another creature.

_"...._ _on the night of the Blood Moon"_

The girl's head whipped back at the moon, red as it ever was with a halo of light around it. The face of Máni engraved into the surface of the moon stared back at her through a veil of blood. As Kára stared back into the face of the god, she could hear a whisper at the back of her mind that wasn't her own voice.

_They're coming..._

In that moment, she heard in the distance a chorus of howls that came from the east.

_Run._

Another crack of thunder vibrated the ground, and a groan in the clouds betrayed the sound of the first fall of rain.

Kára didn't question the voice, nor had any reason to linger. She immediately sprung into a sprint north-west, ignoring the pummelling of rain on the top of her head. The trees around her turned into white blurs, and the fog that enveloped the terrain whipped by her like smoke. It still blinded her, though, and on more than one occasion she nearly collided with a tree, or misplaced a step and found herself tumbling over a rock or raised earth. Not once did she fall, despite the ground becoming slick with water. She could hear the wolves' pads running through grass and mud behind her, with the smell of blood on their noses.

_These are not normal wolves_ , she thought frantically. They sounded larger, they sounded faster, they sounded closer than they actually were. They were the ones who internally chased the chariots of Máni and Sól: Hati and Sköll.

The sound of her feet pounded against the moist earth, but in her mind the sound was akin to the trampling of racing horses, pulling a chariot at rapid speeds. The trees began to thicken and change from Alder and Birch to thick spruce trees, which meant she was closer north. The air became lighter as the earth began to rise well above the sea, which made Kára pump her legs harder to keep her pace. However, the floor suddenly depressed and with the fog blocking most of her view, and the rain and dirt mixing into slick mud, Kára slipped and slid and rolled down the hill and landed harshly into the prickly branches of a spruce.

Kára hissed in pain as her hand flew to her eyes to make sure they didn't get assaulted by the pricks of the tree. Aside from a few shallow scrapes on her cheeks and mud, her face was thankfully fine. However, her stomach still ached, her womanhood still bled through her trousers, and the fall had hit her bones and muscles harshly. The rumble of thunder through the sound of wind and rain brought her back to reality, and her eyes shot over to the overhang of ground where she had fell from. The flash of lightning betrayed their shadows against the wall of trees. Larger than horses. Teeth as long as daggers. Bodies thin and starved for a meal they have been hunting for since the dawn of time.

Her brain began to scramble as did her body. She threw herself into the mud and rolled around in it until she was covered in it from head to toe. Only her eyes shone through the dark brown muck that coated and shielded her from the wolves' eyes and noses. Kára then began to crawl away quickly until she was able to pull herself from all fours and continue sprinting. She had lost the moon in the thicket and clouds, but at this point she continued foreword regardless of what direction she was going. With the earth now completely soft, running was proving even more difficult, but the forest was beginning to thicken, the trees were larger, and it gave her more room for evasion.

What felt like an eternity went by when she started to feel the terrain begin to descend once again, and the sound of the rain hitting the surface of the water met her ears. It echoed, which meant it was a large body of water. Never in her life had she felt so exhilarated to see that god awful lake. At least now, she knew where she was, but, there was still one obstacle that remained.

The rippling reflection of the moon reminded her of the animals that chased her. The rain had washed out any noise that the wolves could have made behind her, but as she halted at the water's edge, she looked behind her and saw absolutely nothing. No shadows, no movement, aside from the winds rustling the spruce branches. Sighing, Kára felt every muscle in her body relax and then ache as the adrenaline started to die down. Her mouth, contrary to the weather, was dry from her lungs pumping air through her nose and out of her mouth.

She stood in the clearing and leaned her head back with her mouth open, allowing the rain to fill it with water. After Kára finished nursing from the sky, she pulled her attention back at the lake, blacker and more alive than she had ever witnessed it. It was as if it was the bed of Jörmungandr himself, and he thrashed violently underneath from the sound of Thor's hammer beating the sky.

She needed shelter, Kára realized, but she could not hide in the trees. The lightning was close, and she couldn't risk the chance of getting hit if she climbed into a tree or being out in the open. Blinking wildly against the rain, she made a quick observation of the landscape, as hard as it was in the dark and rain. Her eyes adjusted by the nightfall, though, and still could see the forms of land against the backdrop of murky clouds. The land rose around the lake further south, she observed, which meant there must be some kind of cave or overhang at the water's edge.

Kára retreated back into the forest to shield herself from the rain, then slowly climbed the terrain that bordered the body of water. She kept low to the ground, making sure that her body didn't become a beacon for Thor's hammer. The girl looked up for a moment, and saw the moon high in the sky hidden behind a curtain of clouds, but its brightness shone through. The red colour came as an orange-yellow through the clouds, which casted an unearthly light on the slick black waters of the lake.

After some time, she had stopped when she met a dent in the grass where the storm water collected, creating a natural trough that lead into a small waterfall that cascaded over the rim of a large rock hidden under grass, earth, and roots. Kára scaled down the side of the overhang, her feet dipping into the shallows of the lake for a moment before she scrambled underneath the rock. Underneath was more spacious than she had thought would be there, but it was crowded with tangled roots and river rocks that had washed up underneath. However, it was as dry as she could possibly get, given the situation, and she had to make do. In an attempt to make it more comfortable, she clawed at the available soil and created something to rest her head, and then moved the river rocks around her body to help delay any rise of the water. Kára had no idea how well she would be able to sleep there, but the rock over her shielded her from the storm and from any predators that might be lurking in the forest still. Hopefully, come morning, she will have a better idea of where she is and how to get home, if she was even close to it.

With a sigh, Kára laid down in her uncomfortable makeshift bed and stared out at the lake through the curtain of water falling above her head. Her heart was still pumping from the chaotic night she had just endured, but under the security of the earth, her adrenaline began to leave her system. Eventually, she fell into an uneasy sleep to the sound of running water, and the lullaby of Thor's hammer breaking into the sky.

**— — —**

_She watched him from the clouds, walking across that marble surface of the lake. His steps were slow, due to his bare feet protesting against the frozen terrain. A dance of wind and snow whipped through her hair and eyes, but from the balcony of Asgard, she could see all so clearly. She could see the face of Rán underneath the water with her net, ready and waiting for her next victim to reach the weakest part of the ice. The licks of shadows danced with her, opening up the entrance to Hel, to welcome it's newest arrival._

_This was no battle, and this was no death worthy of Valhalla. She remained in the clouds, her anxiety fueling the raging storm that crippled Kattegat and it's residence. But, he walked through it, determined to allow the lake to consume him. The place of his solace, his sanctuary, where many days he floated on his back and stared at the clouds will become his final resting place. She could see the fight in him was over; he could no longer pull himself from the tentacles of his own personal kraken._

_The gods had decided that this would be his fate, but it was not fitting to the man he was. She would not allow him to go, not yet. Gods be damned, she flew from her perch and cut through the clouds like a shooting star through the night sky, and landed gracefully upon her bare feet on the crystalline surface before him. She watched with tears collected in her eyelashes, as he opened his eyes and looked upon her. There was recognition in this deep, green eyes, but he held no surprise in them. They were red and dreary; the pain written in his irises told a story as old as he was. His dark hair was dusted by snow flakes, as were his eyelashes and eyebrows, and it blended well with his greying skin. He was halfway to death already._

_"What are you doing?"_

_Her voice was a gentle bell to his ears; a comforting sound to the beating of the wind in his ear. Her warmth and presence tinted his cheeks pink, and he wanted nothing more than to embrace her, and bring her light into his heart. She waited for him to answer, hoping that her interference would somehow make him turn back. However, his answer was just as hollowing as the tears that streamed down the lines of his face like rivers._

_"I don't know."_

_Her long arm extended to him, her fingers ready to brush off those tears and take him into her arms and bring him to the warm hearth of Valhalla, whether approved by Odin or not. But Rán had other ideas. The ice broke beneath his feet and the lake swallowed him whole. She felt the cold in her veins when she saw his wide, panicked eyes look into hers just before the mouth of death swallowed him._

_The winds of winter picked up viciously around her, and she could feel the warning of the gods bellowing her name from the skies. She ignored them, and plunged into the lake with her arms stretched out towards him. Rán's net flourished underneath his sinking body, snaking around his limbs slowly. She was just out of reach._

_His blue lips parted, his last breath and last word slipping out in bubbles that drifted up and got caught in her eyelashes._

_"Sigrún..."_

**— — —**

A spasm in her muscles caused Kára to rouse from her sleep. For a moment, her vision was blurry, but that was because she had dried tears gluing her lids together. Once she blinked out the dust from her eyes, she knew exactly where she was, and her muscles suddenly felt even more sore than a moment before. Her entire body ached, including her womanhood, which felt like it was on fire. But in comparison of the night prior, Kára could not complain about that.

The water that spilled over the overhang had died down to a drizzle, and the lake receded farther away from the earth. Everything was still soaking wet, including herself, but the sun was out, and the sky did not have a single cloud in it, as if the storm was merely an illusion she made for herself. When Kára pulled herself up, she was now able to get a good look at the state of herself now that there was light. She was covered in mud from head to toe, and a dark stain built up between her legs. With a great sigh, she began to crawl from under the overhang and towards the lake, biting down her instincts to avoid the water.

She felt filthy in a way that she had never felt before. Yes, there were times where she had avoided a bath for weeks at a time, and had got away with wearing dirty clothes, tangled, lice ridden hair, and bare feet that had gone black and green from grass and dirt. Aside from the lice, none of that really had bothered her, but right now it was a new kind of filthy. Her insides were on her outsides, pooling and soiling her thighs and trousers to the point where the smell was just as strong as the smell of mud and earthworms. Once the girl reached the water, she groaned at the feeling of the cold water meeting her sore muscles. Lake water was never the warmest, but she had no luxury of choice. With chattering teeth, she pulled her body like a baby learning how to crawl until the surface reached her chin. Once she pulled her legs flat underneath, she started to peel off articles of clothing, one at a time, until she was completely naked.

After some time, the water was no longer an issue. Her skin became numb to the temperature, and it even killed off the pain that her muscles were in. The first thing she had done was dunk her head under the water, and immediately pull her face out in a gasp. She felt her heart race, thinking at any moment something was going to grab her ankle and pull her further into the lake to lay it next to the corpse of her father. With that morbid thought, she grabbed onto a rock for some kind of false sense of security. After she had finished cleaning her body as much as she could, she took her clothes and began to scrub out the mud from the fabric with a rough sided rock. The dirt leaked from it easily, but the red stains in her trousers did not.

"Shit," Kára cursed in frustration. The back of her hand rubbed her nose as she began to feel it tingle, betraying the sensation of tears developing. Taking a deep breath, she laid out her clothes on a large rock to dry, and then crawled back under the safety of the overhang. There, she waited, with her knees pulled to her chin and her muscles quivering and shaking from the chill of being naked and cold. After some time, whether it was long enough for her garments to completely dry or not no longer mattered, Kára came back out, quickly grabbed her clothes and brought them back in with her.

They were still damp, but they were no longer soaked. She looked pitifully at the red stain at the crotch and cursed again, knowing that it would just grow and become dirty again once she put them on. After some deliberating, she took her tunic and ripped off her sleeves, stretched out the fabric, and managed to craft a pair of undergarments by tying one sleeve around her waist, and one underneath her. After, she immediately put on her trousers and tunic, but opted to keep it untucked as to hide the stain, as if it mattered.

Walking along the shore line of the lake, Kára became acutely aware of just how tired her body was every time she moved her feet across uneven ground. It didn't help that she was getting hungry, but had no means of getting food. She couldn't find any mushrooms, those that were edible anyway, but she saw plenty of minnows swimming in schools in the shallows of the lake. After some time walking, she found herself in the presence of a fishing shack that looked older than her own mother. The small dock was reduced to only poles sticking out of the water, with rotted wood nearly disappearing into the earth as it reached dry land. The shack was more of a skeleton of one. A small tree grew right through it, the roof was in shambles, and the door was pushed out of the way by a fallen tree behind it. The earth was retaking it, and to anyone else, it would simply appear like a pile of garbage, but to Kára it was a sight for sore eyes.

"Thank Thor," she breathed and ran to it, as if it was going to vanish. She squeezed through the the small opening underneath the fallen tree, and began to inspect what little provisions it still had. There wasn't much. There was an cast iron pot in the corner that was housing a family of worms in soil. There was a broken fishing pole with no string, a fishing net, rusted fish hooks scattered on the floor, and a small leather pouch. Immediately Kára grabbed it, hoping there was some fishing string inside, but there wasn't. Inside, however, was flint and steel, with some wool bundled inside. Everything seemed to be dry, which was a miracle, given the storm last night.

Having to make do, Kára began the preparations for what she could do. Digging a pit, barricading it with large rocks, and scrounging up as many dry leaves and branches she could find, which wasn't much. At a point, she took some and laid them out in the sun to dry out. She dumped out the worms and dirt from the cast iron pot, and grabbed the fishing net. Given the high population of minnows, it was not surprising that the net was tightly woven, which meant that who ever owned this shack often caught the small fish, most likely for bait. However, for Kára, she had planned on eating them. With no boat, no proper fishing pole, there was no way she would be able to catch a fish properly. At the very least, she can smoke the minnows and sear them til they were crispy enough to be eaten.

She waded into the shallows until it reached her knees and immediately the fish began to swim away, so the girl remained utterly still with the pot in one hand, and the net in the other. For what felt like an hour, she stood completely still, waiting for the moment that the minnows returned. The silence calmed her; the only sounds were the birds and the gentle lapping of the lake against solid earth. Being as concentrated as she was on the task at hand, her guard was completely down, so the moment she heard the sound of someone walking on the lake rocks along the shore, her blood ran cold in unwanted surprise. The hair on her arms and the back of her neck stood on end. Whatever it was, whoever it was, was behind her, and had stopped walking. Kára didn't want to let them know that she knew that they were there; so she bent down as if to scoop up something from the water with her net, but low enough that her head went passed her waist so she could peek between her legs.

The first thing she saw was the bare feet of a man; his soles were dirty and green, and the legs of his trousers were soaking wet. His body was facing the lake as he slowly he bent down and reached into the water with cupped hands and began to drink. The grip Kára had on the iron pot tightened as she slowly pulled herself up. He was close enough that with a well aimed throw, she could hit him with the heavy object and knock him out, and if that didn't do the trick, she would wrap the net around his neck and choke him until he did. However, the moment she turned around, what she saw caused her to yelp in surprise and stumble back in the water with a splash.

There was no man there. There was, instead, the largest wolf that she had ever encountered. His coat was a dark brown, dusted with whites and greys around his neck, large paws, tail and face. He was soaking wet, as if he was caught in the rain last night and the water just clung to his fur the entire time. Her scream and splash did not alert him at all. He drank his fill for a moment longer before pulling his large head from the lake and slowly turning towards the girl, who trembled in the water. Never in her entire life had she wanted to retreat further into the lake as much as she did now, just to add distance and protection between her and this beast.

But then... she met his eyes and froze. Many times she had looked into the eyes of wolves, and saw many kinds of colours. Silver, blue, amber, and olive green. However, this beast's was vibrant and green like a solarstone sitting on a bed of summer moss. The strangest thing was that the fear washed away from her nerves, and there was no unsettling sensation when she held the animal's stare. Instead, what she had was a sense of familiarity, of comfort, of warmth, of safety. 

"Father?"

* * *

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Blood moon - it's a full lunar eclipse that appears reddish in colour from the sun's filtered light through the earth's atmosphere. There was a big one recently!
> 
> Máni - or "Man in the moon" is the norse personification of the moon. Máni is used in this scenario, because the moon as a god/ess usually protects those in the night by lighting the way. Máni as the blood moon had lead Kára to the lake by making her chase him, and by warning her of the wolves. He comforts and shields her with the darkness of the night, making it hard for those to find her, while using his light to guide her.
> 
> Sól - the norse personification of the sun. Sól is Máni's sister.
> 
> Árvakr and Alsviðr - These are the horses that pull Sól's chariot. I bring this up, because I wrote that kara's feet running sounded like horses pulling a chariot for a reason.
> 
> Hati & Sköll - are the wolves that chase the sun and moon. Ragnarok prophesies that the end of the world will happen when the wolves devour Sól and Máni. Kara's still a child, and in her delirium, she believes these famed wolves are the wolves that chase her. A lot of religious belief at this era stemmed from unstimulated minds and over imagination by primitive human beings, so it's completely justifiable that the environment mixed with her overflowing hormones and pain created the convincing illusion that these wolves were in fact the infamous wolves that were destined to kill the sun and the moon, and that was why the god Máni told her to run. But! that's if you're just a logical person. Maybe it was Hati and Sköll that was chasing her ;)
> 
> Rán - Is a sea goddess who is married to Ægir, a sea jötunn. Rán is known to drown men at sea using her fishing net, and also receives men who die at sea. The lake is obvious not the ocean, but I used her as the goddess who claimed Ulf's life in the lake. Since she's considered a dangerous goddess, it's not out of character for her to take advantage of the situation.
> 
> Looking between her legs - So the scene where Kara looks between her legs and see's the legs of her man is something I learned about a few months back. Seers and Volva used to have various ways to see into Asgard or beyond the veil. Volva would sometimes stand on high platforms and chairs in order to appear high enough to look into Asgard and see the gods. A muslim man (whose name escapes me) wrote about his experience with the vikings and described how a woman was bent over with her dress over her head and looking between the gap of her legs in order to see through the veil. Kara does this unknowingly, and by looking through the veil, she see's her father as a man, but when she looks at him normally in midgard, he appears to her as a wolf, which is his namesake. This is also a reference to the time that Ragnar points out that Kara was raised by wolves.


	11. 10: the town hart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ivar makes it his mission to find Kara. Ragnar learns a shocking truth. Hulda finally unveils her past.

  
  


The morning brought no hope of Kára's return. Hulda did not sleep at all that night, continuously praying to the gods as the storm raged around her, whipping water and debris in her face and eyes. Last night was a blur in her mind; after an hour or so when Kára fled and had not returned, Hulda began to search for her. To her surprise and appreciation, Helga, Floki, Ragnar and his sons had joined the search. For fear of perverse strangers taking advantage of a missing girl, the kept this news to themselves.

Bjorn had traced her to the Seer's cabin; the Seer offered no help to her location, but he did leave Hulda with some words that echoed in her mind the entire night.

_"We need to find her before the storm gets worse. Please, you must have some idea of where she went,"_

_"My dear," he breathed heavily as thunder shuddered the ground. "The storm will not harm her."_

_"Did you see something? How do you know this?"_

_"It will not harm her, because she_ is _the storm."_

Hulda pulled herself from the high stool she had positioned in front of her house. Her bare feet slid against the slick and wet grass as she lost her balance, but she made no move to save herself from the fall. She let gravity pull her to the earth, where she curled into her body and sobbed. Standing as tall as she could on the stool and peering into the heavens did little to console her. She shouted for Freya's motherly guidance; she begged for Thor's protection; she prayed to the Allfather to send his valkyries to her. Then last, she called for her Ulf, who still floated in the darkness of the lake, just at the gates of Hel. However, the residue of the harsh storm of the night had diluted her third eye and she could not see anything other than angry clouds churning into each other.

The woman's fingers dug into the earth as she sobbed. The only sound she could hear were the birds singing for mates, and the beating of her own heart in her head that seemed to echo louder than ever. So loud that she did not register the sound of boots walking against the moist earth towards her. When she felt Ragnar's fingers moving her hair behind her ear, she jerked in surprise.

"Ease," he replied calmly, then took a hold of her biceps and helped her up from the ground. His eyes were soft, yet focused as he examined her distraught state. Dirt covered her face and hair, and grass stains tinted the paleness of her skin. "Have you not seen anything?"

"No," her voice shaked with defeat. Hulda gently pulled herself from Ragnar's hand and leaned against the stool she had used to elevate herself to Asgard. "All I saw was the rolling of clouds. They are not allowing me to see her, and I fear none of the gods are sending aid."

"We do not know that," Ragnar's hand reached up again, and ran across her shoulder. "Your daughter is strong, and the gods smile on strong women. She will come home... The forest has raised her."

"And what makes you so confident, Ragnar?" Hulda hung her head as she was hunched her shoulders and bowed her head while still leaning against the stool. "You speak of her like you know her more than I do."

"Has she told you the first time we've met?" His question earned Hulda's attention. She looked over her shoulder at him with a furrowed brow of confusion. Before she said anything, he continued, "It was at my cabin, the one you know well. I found her sitting by the firewood, a rusty knife pulled out, ready to slit my throat." His hand reached to his neck, rubbing the muscle from the memory. A small smile came forth between the whiskers of his beard, "She was upset, then, too..."

"About Ivar," Hulda nodded, remembering well.

"About Ivar," he nodded and tilted his head, "But she was also upset, because she did not know the kind of man her father was."

The woman's lungs filled with heavy air as she pulled herself from the stool and began walking towards the house, Ragnar trailing behind her.

"I wanted to tell her about Ulf for years, but," Hulda stopped at a basin of rain water and started to wash her face with an old cloth. "It was difficult. She's was too young to understand the circumstances, _or_ the past."

"Was?"

She pulled the cloth over her mouth, and then down her neck. Ragnar's eyes strayed from her eyes, down to her lips and then neck where he watched a drop of water create a shallow river down to the dip of her collarbone.

"The Seer said something last night that I had not considered," she looked down at the mud and grass stains on the rag solemnly. "The storm was not there to hinder her. It was there because _it is_ her... It has occurred to me that has happened before."

Ragnar's snapped from the mound of her cleavage up to her eyes in alertness, "What do you mean?"

"The night that Ulf had killed himself," she squared her shoulders as her body stiffened from the memory, "was the day I learned I was pregnant."

Ragnar remembered that winter to be harsh, and even harsher that night. The next day, when Kattegat learned of his passing, for a brief moment they had all thought the storm had got him, and froze him over night. Many had died over that night; slaves, the ill, the homeless, and some children. When Hulda had announced she was pregnant, it was a light in a dismal place, especially since she had previously believed she was infertile after her first born.

"And when I gave birth to her, hard came the rain, and loud came the thunder. Last night was no different," she slowly turned to Ragnar, her face cleaner than before, but there was still the residue of dirt, and a stray blade of grass in her red hair. "She is no longer a child, she is a woman. It is time that I tell her... _everything_."

Without hesitation or further thinking, Ragnar knew of her meaning. He did not know the links between Kára and the weather, with his faith in the gods failing every passing summer, he could not wholly believe that the wee little forest girl had the power to control storms -- if that is what Hulda was implying. What he did understand were the patterns in which the woman was describing and what it meant to become an adult as a girl. Kára had bled, according to Hulda, which meant that she would no longer be treated like a child.

"Everything? Even Eirik?"

"Eirik, Sigrún, Ulf, King Froh--"

"King Froh," Ragnar tilted his head and raised his brow, "That would mean, you would have to tell her your real name."

"If there is anyone that should know who I really am, It should be my daughter," she pursed her lips, "I have been so afraid of my past, that instead of haunting me, it has been haunting her."

Ragnar reached up and pulled the blades of grass from her hair, but his fingers lingered in the tendrils. Hulda's attention was pulled from his face and to the digits that threaded in her hair. The simple touch sent an influx of memories and emotions that came with it, but what was most prominent of them was guilt. Guilt from withholding knowledge from Ragnar for these many years, mostly out of the bitterness and resentment of a young woman she no longer was. But after years of holding this knowledge like a hostage, it had just gotten harder to hold. Immediately she pulled away from Ragnar's fingers and looked down, feeling the smallest she has ever felt in a long time.

Her change in demeanor was an immediate concern for the King. He could actually feel the air around her change; his face dropped to one of concern.

"What is wrong?"

"There is something else... Something you need to know. Something I should have told you years ago."

**— — —**

It had been three days and four nights since Kára had been missing. Bjorn had a small party of hunters track her position, but all traces of her disappeared after a certain point. They had found wolf prints nearby hers, which showed that she had been sprinting and fell off a overhang in the earth. It was there that they lost her tracks. There was no signs of blood or wolf scat with human bone. In fact, the hunters had said that the wolves had lost her as well, and went off in a different direction.

Ivar felt utterly useless in the duration of the search. Dragging his body behind his brothers just felt like he was pulling them back. His mother had suggested that it would be best if he remained home, and allow Ubbe, Sigurd and Hvitserk to go. Ivar agreed, only because of the hole of helplessness he put himself in. He was no hunter, he was no tracker, hell he was not even a proper warrior. He wouldn't even know where to look first.

It was the fourth night, and he laid in his cot and looked at the ceiling in the dark. His fingers were running along his arm ring in hard contemplation. They had already searched in places where she could be -- near the home, in nearby caves, at the cabin his father retires to. They have searched all of the known hunting retreats in the forest, and found no traces of her. Bjorn had been scouring the rivers nearby the direction she had been headed, and would only end up at the lake empty handed.

_The lake..._

It was massive; to an outsider it looked like the sea from afar, but he knew it was the centre of Kattegat. The eye, as Kára had described it. If he was lost, the one place he would try to find is the lake and eventually he would find civilization, and shelter. With that revelation, Ivar pulled himself from his furs and snuck out of the longhouse and into the night, alone. He crawled through the forest for hours following the radius of the lake. Armed with two daggers to help him pull through the dirt easier, Ivar was determined to be the first person to find her. In a way, he felt as if it was his fault that she had fled. She had fled before because of him, and his words he chose that night at The Thing, was more than enough to put her on edge already. He never regretted anything more in his life.

The sun had risen, making his search for her easier. The evaluation of land told him he was moving more north, which was the direction they found her footprints to go in. The longer he pulled himself along the earth, the more Ivar began to worry that his efforts are going in vain. What if she had been abducted? What if the wolves got to her, and her body was laying somewhere, torn to shreds and and mostly eaten? What if she injured herself, and succumbed to her wounds?

He was so bound in his thoughts and anxieties that he long stopped paying attention to where he was going. Ivar's eyes burned into the soil he climbed, using the strength in his arms to pull his legs up hill, trying to ignore the sting in his eyes that felt utterly foreign to him. Was he really getting that upset over her? Kára Greenfoot, the dirty girl raised by trees and a witch? Was she really that important to him, that the idea of her being hurt in any calamity emotionally overwhelmed him, and caused his heart to beat rapidly and his head to pound in worry?

The dagger plunged into soft earth, and the weight of his body had caused the weak ground to give in. The world under him slipped from view, and suddenly he was flying -- no, he was dropping. Had he been paying attention to where he was going, he would have seen the incline of the cliff that hung over the lake at 20 feet above. The edge was weak there, and it caved the moment he climbed on top of it. Ivar's arms flailed about, his daggers dropping into the lake below, and his fingers sliding against hard earth, trying to grab everything he could. His fingers grabbed the ends of a root, but it was far too thin to keep his weight. In matters of seconds that felt like eternity, his back felt the collision with the water in a slap. It punched through his chest and knocked all the air from his lungs, so when his head was enveloped in water, he gasped and choked.

Immediately panic, lack of air, and water in his throat caused the corners of his vision to cloud. Tiny stars flickered around him as his brain lacked the oxygen it needed. He felt like dead weight in a bottomless pit. The cold of the lake felt made it feel like he was in the middle of winter. With his tense muscles moving around frantically, it made the lake swallow him faster. The glassy surface of the water began to shrink away in front of him; the farther away the light seemed, and the deeper the darkness became. In what he believed to be his final thoughts, Ivar thought of the failure of dying before he even found her.

He blinked back the sting in his eyes from the water assaulting them, but he regretted immediately, because what little shimmering light he had left was now blurred. He couldn't make out anything, not even the forms that floated in front of him. What were fish and what were the arms of Rán capturing him in her net. A massive cloud of limbs and cloth obstructed his sight in a burst of bubbles and a muffled splash. Ivar blinked again, and this time he saw the colour of blood-orange wisp around the water in fluid silk ribbons. It looked like the sun had fell into the lake with him, but the closer it came to him, the more human it looked, the more familiar the face was.

A violent cough shook his body and bruised his ribs as air filled his lungs and pushed all the water out from his throat, which felt like it was lined with hot coals. His eyes still stung from the water and when he tried to look around he saw light all around him, but everything remained a blur. He saw the green of the trees, the blue of the sky, and the orange of the sun hovering over him.

"Ivar? Ivar?" He felt warm patting on his cheek.

He blinked more, trying to get rid of the veil over his eyes. Eventually, his vision began to focus, and in front of him he saw her. Hair soaking wet, face dirty and red from the sun, and her freckles looked like stars littered across the sky while the sun was still setting.

"Kára?" His voice felt small and coarse; he barely heard himself, but she had. The moment he spoke, her lips stretched into a wide grin, exposing her row of slightly crooked teeth. The sunlight reflected in her turquoise eyes, making them look like the glittering sea. He wondered if he was asleep in his cot, or maybe he had died, and she had died, and they were both sitting on the shore of Asgard.

"Are we dead?" His mind, like his muscles, felt numb. Ivar didn't entirely know where he was, and how he got here. He remembered falling off the cliff, a memory that felt like a lifetime ago, but it triggered the pain in his back from where it collided with the water surface. He remembered the water around him and the panic in his heart, but for the life of him, he could not remember being pulled onto land. Naturally, his immediate assumption was that he had died.

Kára, however, chuckled at his question which earned her a quizzical look from him. She shook her head, and moved away the hair from his brow with gentle fingers.

"No, we're not dead, stupid," she chuckled again and rubbed his cheek with her thumb. "I watched you fall off a cliff and plunge into the water."

They weren't dead. Well, that was a relief, at least, but how did they end up here? Was it Bjorn? Had he been the one to find her first, and they both happened to find Ivar being a fool and climbing to the edge of a crumbling crag along the shores of Kattegat's notorious lake?

"How did I get out of the water?" His voice was becoming stronger, Kára had noted, which was a good sign. There was still an air of daze and confusion around his head, but that was to be expected. His brain was devoid of oxygen for at least 2 minutes, and it would have been 2 minutes too long had she not gave him the kiss of life.

"I dove in after you, and pulled you out," her words might have landed on deaf ears, because he continued to look at her as if she had a foot growing out of her head.

"You went... into the water?"

She nodded.

"You... went... into the water...." he repeated his words very slowly as he squinted at her. He looked around himself, where he was. He was laying on a shore of small river rocks, the gentle splashing of the lake that tried to kill him was about two feet away from his legs. "Are you sure we are not dead?"

Another laugh came from her lips, which to Ivar, sounded like heavenly bells to his ears. It was a short song and when she looked down at him, her face fell a little more seriously. Ivar was then reminded of why he was here in the first place.

Before she could ask what he was doing here, he spoke, finding confidence in his words after nearly dying. "I came to look for you. I wanted to save you, but--" he looked down, slightly ashamed, even less amused at the irony of the situation. He did not want to admit the truth, even if it was staring both of them in the face. She, clearly, saved him, and conquered her fear to do it as well.

"Consider my debt to you paid then," her smile was small, but warm and inviting. Her fingers were still on his face, as if she was worried he would slip away back into the dark. She had lost her father to that lake, and she wouldn't allow it to take her only friend. Days ago, Kára would not admit to it, but Ivar had grown on her more than anyone ever had. He was like Jörmundgandr, coiling around her until he could finally bind her to him by biting his tail. He stirred her oceans like no one had ever done; how often he got under her skin, creating storms in her head and her chest and her stomach.

The cruel words that he spat at her were long forgotten, for now, she was simply happy that he was here and he was alive. Ivar had forgotten her aloofness and bitterness as well, but felt an uncomfortable, but not terrible, feeling in his stomach. It was a light, anxious feeling that started in his stomach and blossomed below his belly button. He didn't know how, but she looked, or seemed different. There was something different about her as she hovered over him, and yet everything looked exactly the same. Her hair was still that obnoxious orange-red colour, tangled and dirty as it was from being alone in the forest for three days. Her face might have been more freckled due to the sun, and overall, Kára appeared more of a mess than he had ever seen her. Those lips, however, seemed slightly different-- they seemed more pink and more full, like soft rose petals. Or maybe they always looked like that, and he never noticed until now.

For reasons unknown to him, his body reacted before his mind could. It was like his head became unplugged to his spine, and his heart took control of his arms. With numb fingers, he reached out and cupped the back of her head and pulled himself halfway up from the ground to meet her lips with his in a chast, semi-wet kiss. Upon realizing his boldness and what he had done, he pulled away and let his head fall back into the pebbled ground.

Heat rushed to Kára's cheeks faster than the kiss had lasted. She pulled away with a small gasp, sitting up straight with her fingers on her lips. Looking down at Ivar, he had his forearm draped over his eyes, blocking his eyes from witnessing the possible look of horror on her face. Unbeknownst to him, Kára held no negative expression, but instead her face eased itself to an impish smirk.

"I do not know why I--" Ivar began to speak, but was interrupted when he felt a hand wrap around his forearm and pull it away from his face. Her own was close to him, and he was surprised at the smile she had on.

"I knew you fancied me, Beinlausi," Kára leaned in and planted her lips on his.

Ivar froze underneath her, completely surprised by the entire situation. Flashes back to the day she had first given him a kiss under the tree came to mind, but that first time, it had not felt this way. His face was red hot, and he could feel his heart in his mouth. Ivar's fingers twitched in an attempt to move from his paralyzing disbelief. His skin rippled like the surface of water when rain pelted it aggressively.

When Kára pulled away, Ivar was wide-eyed as ever, his arms branches out, as if bracing the earth around him for dear life. His face was pulled inward, trying to recede into the pebbles. Those blue orbs were staring into the sky unblinkingly.

"Ivar?" She snapped her fingers in front of his face. She waved her hand in front of him a few more times, seeing, just barely, his eyelids fluttered from the brush of wind. "Did you die?"

The boy felt himself deflate as air escaped his lips that almost sounded like words. "I think we should go home," his voice was higher than normal.

**— — —**

Ragnar was kicked awake by the angry foot of his wife, Aslaug. He had fallen asleep in his throne late last night and didn't have the strength, nor the mind, to pick up his body to put it in a proper bed. When his knee was hit sharply by Aslaug, his head bobbled awake, and his eyes fluttered open lazily and half alert.

"What is it you want, woman?" He pinched his eyes and yawned.

"Ivar is not in his bed!"

A silent and exhausted sigh filtered through his nostrils. Ragnar tilted his head back, resting it on the throne and shut his eyes again. "He is probably with his brothers, looking for the girl."

"Hvitserk and Ubbe are at the port, and Sigurd is playing his lute outside," her voiced seethed, "They all have said they have not seen him."

Ragnar opened his eyes again, but he didn't seem alert. He remained tired, thanks to a long night of drinking, over thinking, and remembering. However, when the light of the sconces hit Aslaug's face, he could see the lines in her skin, the wild look in her eyes,, and the disheveledness of her hair. She did not look this worried at all when Kára went missing. Despite Ivar's sudden disappearance, he was neither concerned nor surprised. He had no empathy towards Aslaug's distressed state, especially after all that happened.

"If this is how you are after a few hours of not knowing where he is, then I fear the day when he leaves you entirely," his voice was low, but for Aslaug it was as loud as a warhorn.

"DO NOT MOCK MY PAIN, RAGNAR!"

The sheer volume of her shrill voice justled his very bones, causing him to become fully awake. Her shout had caused small yelps and whispers by the slaves that were in the long house. It took him completely off guard, and made his head pound at the temples. He barely had time to react to Aslaug as she crumpled to the floor of the dias and began sobbing into her long sleeves. Her words were muffled, for the most part, but Ragnar heard the words easily.

_"You've never cared about him, you've never loved him, you would have rather him die in the woods, like you had tried to do to him before..."_

A hefty breath of air filled his lungs at those words, and the feeling of his skin tightening around his bones. He wanted nothing more than to defend himself and say otherwise, but he was never good with weeping women. He didn't even know how to handle Hulda and even less when she bestowed on him knowledge that he wished she didn't tell him. It only served to weaken his heart and pain his mind more than it already was.

Instead of losing his temper, he slowly raised from his throne and gently brushed his fingers through the top of Aslaug's head.

"I will look for him," Ragnar's voice was small in comparison to the volume of her's prior. Her outburst still lingered in the air, and rested on the ears of those who heard. With swift but silent steps, he left the longhouse, leaving the queen crying on the dias.

Tracking Ivar was harder than tracking a normal person. He obviously left no footprints and the tracks he would have left in the dirt floor would have been trampled over and mixed in with carts and bags that have been dragged around. Eventually, Ragnar went to the edge of the city and examined the terrain until he saw the grass flattened in one area, almost like a very faint game trail in the grass. He followed it with silent steps, and the more he did, the more confident he was that it was the trail of Ivar. He saw little holes in the ground every foot or two along the way, which meant he was using something to help him move faster.

The trail lead Ragnar to the lake, and then it curved as it followed the perimeter. He furrowed his brow at this, wondering what his son was doing; it looked like he had a destination, rather than wandering aimlessly. The trail from Kattegat to the lake was almost near straight, which meant he intended on going to lake, and following it's shores. Ragnar mimicked this, and kept on walking for another hour or two until he found himself bounding uphill that lead to a cliff and that is when he halted.

Ivar's trail had disappeared where soil and grass hung off of thin roots at the very tip of the earth. Panic shook his core and froze his skin when he realized what had happened. "No," he whispered and rushed himself to the precipice and flattened himself to look over the edge, and merely saw dark blue water beneath him.

"No!" He screamed louder, his eyes wide and rapidly moving around the surface, hoping or not hoping to find a shadow or body floating around. He immediately rolled off the edge and pulled himself on his feet, quickly scurrying down the slope to reach the shore, hoping that Ivar had pulled himself to dry land, or at the very least he was holding onto the rock face somewhere he could not see.

Flashes back to when Ivar was a baby pulled to the forefront of his mind. Oh, how he cried mercilessly, loudly, and never ending. The boy's legs were painfully bent and deformed at birth, and Ragnar knew that he would never walk, and he would always be in pain. He remembered telling himself that leaving the boy in the forest to succumb to the wills of the gods and the wild was a far better fate than living a lifetime in physical, mental, and emotional pain. He had not been attached to him when he was born, that was clear, but now with the trepidation of Ivar's possible death causing a storm in his chest, Ragnar regretted every bit of it.

Of course he loved him; he loved him like he loved all his sons and losing him was never a thought he would ever had. Maybe on some level, he did not believe it was possible. Bjorn was untouchable; his name Ironside was a testimony to not only his prowess but his favour to the gods. Ubbe and Hvitserk were strong young men, more skilled with a blade and axe than many their age, and there was no doubt they were ready to come to Paris. However, Ivar had always been different. He had always been glued to Aslaug's hip from the very moment he was born; he was never far from her reach. She always knew where he was, how to get to him, and who he was with. It never occurred to him, as much as he claimed it would happen, that Ivar would stray so far from his mother to the point of injuring -- or Thor forbid, killing -- himself.

The reality of the situation hit Ragnar like a boulder to the back, so much so that he slid down the grass while he tried to descend, and once his knees met with the pebbled ground, he crawled to the water, and began shouting Ivar's name. He hurried through the water until it reached his thighs, ignoring the cold sting of the lake.

"Father?"

Ragnar spun around his head, looking around in the water, thinking the voice came from there. When he turned around, he had to do a double take. Standing on the river rocks, away from the water, clothes soaked, hair damp, was Kára with Ivar laid beside her at her feet, looking soaked and a little pale in the face, but otherwise unharmed.

Ragnar felt his knee almost give in at the sight; he stumbled as he turned his body around and trudged back onto the shore without words being said. His eyes, unblinking, and watery from his bubbling emotions, was enough to show Ivar a look he's never seen on his father before. To make it stranger, his father crawled to him and took him in his arms, then cradled his head to his shoulder.

The king kissed the back of Ivar's head, but said no words. Ivar was just as speechless, and Kára stood awkwardly watching the paternal display in front of her. She, herself, had never witnessed such weakness from any man, and never thought it would show in the form of Ragnar Lothbrok.

The viking wrapped his arm around Ivar and began to stand up, holding his son as if he was just a babe. With his free hand, he rested it on Kára's head, stroking down the damp threads of her orange hair before resting it on her shoulder. She didn't need to tell him what happened, he read the story by the state of their persons, the paleness of Ivar's cheek, and the swollenness of Kára's lips.

"Thank you," his smile was thin but soft and honest. "Let's get you home."

**— — —**

When Hulda saw Ragnar walking up the hill towards the moss house, her eyes were tired, red, and void of life. Ivar was in his arms, which only provoked some curiosity in them, especially at how the boy's clothes were damp in some corners, as were the tips of his hair. There was no time to make up conclusions to what happened, because trailing behind Ragnar only a few feet away was a sight for sore eyes. It was almost like seeing the ghost of someone who she thought she would never see again.

The reunion of mother and daughter was full of sobbing and long embraces. Ragnar put down Ivar gently on a chopping block stump, and they remained where they were as Hulda embraced her daughter and sobbed in her shoulder. Ivar could not see Kára's face, only her back, but her shoulders shook and he could hear her. It reminded him painfully of the day at the beach, where she clung to him and cried harder than he had ever seen someone cry. Right now it was different. The emotion greatly contrasted it in a way that he didn't entirely understand. Fear was what brought Kára to tears and hysterics the first time, but right now it was relief, remorse, and love. How could two very different scenarios initiate the same reaction to the exact same degree?

These displays were not common around Ivar, he suddenly realized. Being glued and roped to his mother all his life, he was used to dry, apathetic natures. The only love he was shown was the obsessive nature of Aslaug as she fretted over him above all else, and he knew that was the only place he would get that attention. Today, he was shown differently. Today, he was given a softer, foreign affection not from one, but two other people. First from Kára, who warmed his stomach and set his skin on fire by just _breathing_ next to him. Then, his father, who rarely showed forms of weakness linked with paternal love for him. He tried, as he might, to treat him like his older brothers, but it felt forced to Ivar. The rawness of what happened at the lake was new to him, and truly, his young mind still did not understand it. He could not even decide if it was something he liked, or was scared of.

When Hulda pulled away, it was to move her fingers to Kára's face and began brushing back hair and dirt away from her eyes, as if to ensure herself that this was real and this was her daughter returned.

"Oh, my sweet child," Hulda smiled painfully through blurred eyes and stained cheeks. "There are no words to describe my relief and happiness that you're here in one piece. I could not bare the thought of you out there, alone."

Kára rubbed her wrists along the mound of her cheeks to wipe away the obstruction of tears, "But I wasn't alone."

Hulda stared back at her in confusion; her brow knitted as she looked back at Ragnar and Ivar who still stood where she last saw them. They both heard, and were equally as confused and curious to this proclamation.

She returned her gaze back to Kára, "What do you mean, child?"

A rounded smile came to her face, and the girl-now-woman pulled her hands to her mother's own face and cupped her palms around her jaw. "Father was with me."

Hulda stared into her eyes, sparkling not only from the tears, but the shine of the sun that peeked through the leaves. The Vövla searched the meaning of her words in those orbs, and found there was literal truth in them. And she knew, in that moment, that her prayers _were not_ , in fact, ignored after all these days. A new wave of tears came through her eyes and Hulda pulled Kára to her bosom and buried her face in the dirty, damp and matted hair of hers.

_It's time,_ Hulda thought as she looked up to the sky, which opened up to her finally after all this time. The gods no longer had their backs to her, and she knew why. Kára needed to do this alone, and Hulda needed to feel what it would feel like to not have her, and not knowing where she was. For one day, it would happen again, but there would be no reunion.

**— — —**

Many hours later, Hulda was left alone with her daughter in a familiar setting, but a more surprising sight. Kára was in the water with no help; she did not clung to the rocks for dear life, nor did she stay at the shallows. Hulda watched from the bank of the river as her daughter washed the filth and blood from her body, and when she came from the water, she no longer looked like her daughter anymore. It brought another wave of sadness to Hulda, because she knew better than anyone in Midgard.

Fresh clothes were put on immediately, and Kára sat cross legged before her mother as the woman combed out her hair, and trimmed off the debris tangled in it. Hulda listened intently as Kára retold the story of her survival in the woods alone, from the moment she left the Seer's hut to when Ivar had fallen off the cliff. The idea of wolves chasing her daughter through the storm made Hulda's whole body freeze with dread, despite Kára being alive and unharmed before her. Then, Kára got to the morning after, and what she saw at the lake.

"I came to an old fishing shack, hadn't been used for _years_ ," Kára explained. "I managed to get some materials to fish, and when I went into the water, I heard footsteps. I thought I saw a man when I snuck a peak between my legs--"

Hulda froze with her hands, and found herself tense with anticipation that only showed when her eyes watched the top of her daughter's head.

"But, when I looked over, it wasn't a man. It was a wolf...He had father's eyes..."

When Kára trailed off, Hulda let the words sink into her mind and heart before replying with a small voice, "How do you know they were your father's eyes?"

"I've dreamed of them before," Kára pulled her knees to her chest. "Like a memory that should have been, or wasn't mine. In the dream, I'm sitting in a tree and I look down and see him lying in the grass, staring at me with a smile in his face. He then reaches out with something in his hand, and I reach to grab it, but I wake up as soon as my hand touches him."

Hulda swallowed the lump in her throat, then resumed combing her hair. "What happened after you saw the wolf?"

"He nuzzled and licked my face, and then walked into the water," Kára bit her lip, squintting as she tired to recall all that happened. "I waited, and when he returned he had a trout in his jaws. He was with me until last night. I woke up, and found he was nowhere to be seen, but I saw his prints in the mud, and they lead back to the lake."

"The gods had allowed him passage through the gate of Hel to be with you," Hulda found herself smiling through dew-rimmed eyes.

"But why not as a man?" Kára asked.

"Because," Hulda ran her fingers through the damp orange strands. "You are the daughter of the wolf, and the lessons you learned could have not been taught to you by man. And," she sighed to herself, "the forest has given you more than I have ever given you." A gentle touch of her hand on Kára's shoulder brought the young woman's attention to her mother.

"There is much I need to tell you, and someone...that you should meet."

**— — —**

Dusk blanketed the hills in a dull purple and orange glow as mother and daughter climbed over the mounds until they reached the burials. Grass had grown over the boat-shaped mounds, but the white stones that bordered them were still vibrant against the green grass. Hulda had walked over to one that was nearly covered in purple forget-me-not flowers, and sank down to her knees.

Kára stood beside her, looking at the mound. The short journey to the burial ground was made in silence, only the wind and the birds filled the void. Even with no explanation, Kára knew whose grave she stood at. After a few moments, she descended to the grass and folded her legs under her.

"Eirik was your brother, but he wasn't your father's son," Hulda began with a sigh that got lost in the winds. "But he treated him like he was, and he never looked at him any other way."

Kára watched her mother's profile as her eyes were glued to the blue and purple flowers that swayed against the midsummer air. "Who was his father?"

Hulda turned to Kára with a small, sad smile, and reached out a hand to place it on the girl's cheek, "That is a long story. One you are finally ready to hear, my love."

"My name is not Hulda, as everyone knows me as. I was known as Thora Borgarhjört, and your aunt was called Sigrún Spjótkona, and our father, your grandfather, was Heroth, the famed earl of Götaland. As his only children, there were no shortage of proposals and courtships, but my father would not allow us to accept any of them. He looked for a grander marriage for us.

"I was fifteen when I was married to King Froh, the king of Svealand, and I was sixteen when he invaded and killed the norwegian king Siward. It was not a forced marriage by any means. I was an ambitious girl, and as spoiled as an month old apple. An older man, a king, wanted my hand and he promised me the world. I fell into his trap most easily, as he was as cunning and charming as the snakes he carried around with him.

"It was at this time that I had begun distancing myself from people I loved. Aslaug and I were constantly challenging each other, and she had got immensely jealous that I had married a king before she could find a courtier for herself. My sister, however, did not like the person who I was becoming. We would argue so loud, the wolves would howl with us. It was when she came to me with a man at her arm that she had intended to marry that I had snubbed her completely. At the time, I had hoped for her to marry as high as me; to become a queen, to become rich, like me, but instead she had settled for a smith's apprentice: _Your father._

"Ulf was destined to marry Sigrún, but war had prolonged their union. When all I had was Froh, I became hollow. He had succeeded in ensuring that I was wholly dependent on him, especially since I was not a favourite to the people, his or those we conquered. When the rebellion began to rise, there were many chanting for my beheading, and during that time I had no support from family. I begun to hate myself, I begun to loath Froh and the crown he had given me. Sigrún had tried free me, but Froh confined me to a tower. He constricted me like a lindworm would to his property. I became a victim in his game of power.

"I had been in my tower when my sister was killed in the battlefield. I had not known this until the very person who rescued me happened to be the man who had ended her life: Ragnar Sigurdson. He had gotten his nickname Lothbrok on that very day. With his thick attire, he had managed to beat Froh and his poisonous snakes without fatal injury. When he burst into my tower, I had thought he was going to kill me, like how many had wanted. Instead, he grabbed me by the arm and told me to hurry.

"Ragnar saved me from the Siward loyalists that he fought with; they wanted me buried along with my husband. He had cut my hair and gave me new garb and a new name. For a fortnight he kept me hidden in an abandoned house near kattegat -- the one he frequents to this day -- and when people asked about me, he would say that I was his slave. I mourned heavily during it all; I mourned the failure I had become, I mourned the losses of everyone I cared about, but I mostly mourned over my sister, who was my first love.

"Ragnar comforted me in the only way men knew how to comfort women. In those moments, I had grown too fond of him, and I had thought there was a future with him. Though his heart was already taken by Lagertha by that time, which in my grievous state sent me spiralling into the shadows. It had gotten worse when my stomach grew with child -- Eirik.

"I could not let Ragnar know, so I fled the house and found myself lost in the forest. I was young, and pregnant, and terrified. To this day, I do not know how I was able to survive unscathed for so long. Eventually, I had come to the lake, near a fishing cabin where I saw a man sobbing into his palms. I stood, watching him silence, afraid to ruin his moment of solace. But then I saw his eyes under the glare of the sun, glowing by the tears of his eyes and I immediately saw his soul, and how it suffered much like mine.

"In the blindness of my ambition, I had not seen how much he loved Sigrún until I saw him cry for her. When he saw me standing there, disheveled, pregnant, and crying, he said nothing, but his lips spoke a thousand words for every tear he kissed away. Our hearts clung to the closest thing to Sigrún, which was each other. Ulf vowed to protect me and the child from those who wished any remains of Froh to be smothered and buried.

"Our lives intertwined since then, and as the seasons passed, the name Thora Borgarhjört was long forgotten. I had buried my past with my sister, so I could have a second chance as Hulda. I had hoped that my past would stay buried; but one thing after another would bubble up to the surface. When Aslaug came to Kattegat, pregnant with Ragnar's child, the life I had built with Ulf began to crumble one stone at a time.

"I thought I was able to contain the avalanche of it all, by shielding you from the past so you could have an untainted future, but I was a fool to believe that I could control it. You deserve to know who your mother is, and where you come from."

The word avalanche was appropriate, Kára thought, because that's what it felt like in that moment. With no room to react, she was being pelted by truths from the past. She had remained quiet as she digested and looked at the mound in the earth, suddenly feeling how real it was. There was something, however, that she didn't quite understand, and the more she thought about it, the more her heart began to race.

"Did you get pregnant before or after you were saved from King Froh?"

* * *

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been waiting a long time to tell the story behind Hulda, because I had to deal with a lot of working with the canon and actual sagas, and to make it work well with the story.
> 
> Borgarhjört - Town Hart. Thora the Town Hart
> 
> Spjótkona - Javelin Woman. Or my attempt at translating spear wife. Sigrún Spearwife.
> 
> If you guys are just show watchers, you probably don't know about Ragnar's forgotten wife, Thora Borgarhjört. So, I can write a whole thing about this, and how History's Vikings changed a lot of things about the sagas of Ragnar, but that would be a lot of information. But if there is a lot of demand for it, I'll be happy to post it all. For now I'll keep it as brief and informative as possible.
> 
> Thora is the woman whom Ragnar marries after he divorces Lagertha. She is the reason why he is named "Lothbrok" which translates to Shaggy pants/trousers, or hairy breeches. Quick run down of the story; Thora was trapped by a Lindworm (Serpent/dragon, depending on which version youre reading) in a tower. Her father, who I mention by actual name in the chapter, promises her hand in marriage to anyone who saves her. But the Lindworm's fangs are poisonous and kills everyone who tries. Ragnar makes his shaggy pants to to protect himself from the Lindworm's bite, and thus kills it and saves Thora. They had two sons Eiríkr and Agnar. Ragnar had way more sons than the show gave him. 
> 
> Anyway, in History's Vikings, they gave him an entirely different background that isn't really addressed in the show itself. The story is as Hulda explained. There was King Froh, who had trained poisonous snakes (which was supposed to be the lindworm from the saga), who overthrew the Norwegian King. Ragnar defeated him by fashioning his armour with hairy animal hide. He was fifteen at the time, and this took place a bit before he confessed his love to Lagertha (and that whole story with the bear etc). So, I obviously took some liberties to insert actual saga to this show-made background for Ragnar, while not damaging the canon of the show. Thora was still trapped, Ragnar saved her, but instead of marrying her like the saga, he simply kept her as a secret lover for her protection. Then married Lagertha. You can find this background on him on his Vikings wikia page, but it was also included in the dvd extras I believe. 
> 
> Sigrún has nothing to do with the saga of Thora and Ragnar; her addition is purely fictitious.


	12. 11: the harbinger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ragnar leaves for Paris with his warband, and Kattegat gets a visit from an old foe who calls himself friend.

  


The day after Kára's return, Ragnar had climbed up the hill to the highest point, where the fields were littered with ship-shaped burials lined with white stones. There were many great warriors, shieldmaidens, earls, and warlords buried in this field, and yet they all looked the same. Some were smaller than others, and those were children or younger folk. But, out of all the graves, there was one that was absolutely covered in purple forget-me-not flowers, so much so that the white stones were all but little white dots in the collage of colours.

Ragnar had little memory of sleeping at all that night, nor did he remember moving from his bed and walking through the slumbering city and silently through the trees. He felt numb at the events of the past few days, but also hollow as he had only just began to digest the truth he was given a few days ago. The orange glow of dawn was just peeking over the ocean's horizon, painting the black ripples orange and kissing the graves with the first light of the day. Ragnar sat with his knees up, and his elbows draped on them. In his fingers, he fiddled with the stem of a flower he had pulled from the ground.

"I cannot say that I did not have my suspicions; you looked more like me than any son I've had after you," the flower spun in his fingers. "Perhaps I was too afraid to lose Lagertha in the early years of our marriage to admit to myself that I had fathered a child with another woman, but that is no excuse." After some thought, he let out an laugh through his nose, "I remember the first day I met you. You were two years old, eyes like sapphires, wide and bright light the summer sea. You kept running into the bay, and your mother kept on chasing after you, but you were so adamant to see what was out there. You kept on saying that the sea was singing to you."

A frown replaced his smile at the memory, "I was promised by the gods to have many sons, and I had another staring in my face without my knowledge. And now, I see that I take for granted the ones that are alive. The ones you had died to protect." He brushed the back of his knuckles across his bottom lid to brush away the stray tear that betrayed his breaking heart. "My only regret is that I wasn't there to be a father for you. But I am grateful for Ulf, more than any man could be, for raising you as if you were his own... Even after what I took from him. I did not deserve him for friend, and Freya decided I did not deserve you."

His knees collapsed to the grass as his legs spread out before him. Ragnar's hand reached out to the mound of earth that protected Eirik's body. His eyes glazed over and reddened as the emotions took control of his body, which began to rock and shake from the sobs he couldn't control. The digits of his fingers dug into the grass and soil in an attempt to reach him, but instead he folded his body into himself at the weight of his broken heart.

"I... I am a _terrible_ father. And you were too good for me...."

**— — —**

The deep voice of a man bellowed in Kattegat's bay as he sung towards the departing ships. The drums and his voice could be heard as far as the bluffs, where Ivar, Sigurd, Kára, Hulda, and Aslaug stood as they watched Ragnar and the warband sail back to Paris. As the wind picked up in the sails the further out into the ocean they went, the shift of change was undeniable among the four, but they remained silent.

Sigurd watched in mild envy as his brothers went off with their father to an epic raid, but that feeling had overshadowed by a cloud of dread. He smelled something familiar and unpleasant in that wind, but he couldn't quite place the memory it originated. Ivar had the same feeling to a certain degree; he wasn't put at unease at the scent on the wind, almost as if he associated it with relief. Still, there was something stale or rotten about it that put a vile taste in his mouth. For some reason, he cut off his gaze from the ships and moved it to Kára.

Her face was unmoving like stone and her eyes seemed to be looking at the ships, but they were adrift into nothingness. Clearly lost in thought and ignorant to Ivar's staring, he took advantage of her not noticing and openly stared at her. He had noticed changes in Kára since he found her at the riverbank, but when he tried to point them out to himself, he couldn't place how she changed. Perhaps she was cleaner than she was before, and that was why her hair seemed to glow more, and her freckles appeared to him like a galaxy of red stars in an ivory sky. He never liked her freckles before; it made her face look textured and clustered, but now... They were alluring.

Unbeknownst to Ivar, Aslaug was looking at him. The children sat on the grass before her and Hulda, who stood only a couple of feet behind her. The queen's eyes were sharp as she watched her son watch Kára in the exact way Ragnar claimed he had. Her mind was no longer on her departing husband and sons, but the blossoming nightshade flower before her. Her fingers curled into her palms and her nails cut crescent shapes into them. She hated Kára for who her mother was, and what she represented. It was, of course, not rational to hate a child by any means, but Aslaug was nowhere near rational in this stage of her life. The Queen felt her regality and power fading as age gripped her throat and salt poison her veins. Aslaug had become so salty that when the girl had gone missing, she had only given a dry apology to Hulda, but her stomach fluttered in amusement and she silently relished at her petty victory. The thought sprung to her at the idea of Kára being found dead or never returning for one reason or another, and Aslaug felt indifferent. There was moment of shame as well, especially when she woke up to find Ivar had disappeared, and she prayed to the gods to forgive her selfish wishes and hopes.

Then Kára returned as did Ivar, and Ragnar started a feast. She watched her husband dance with the little girl to a flute and drum. Hulda played Tafl with Ivar; Ubbe and Hvitserk were listening to stories told by King Harald Finehair and his brother, Halfdan; Bjorn had Sigurd on his shoulders as her son strung his first lute and sung loudly. Everyone was happy, everyone was merry -- except for Aslaug. With a goblet of wine in her hand, she sat in her throne and hid her frown behind the rim. Her anger and hatred bubbled under everyone's noses, but she had done her best to appear content in everyone's merriment. Until, that was, when she saw Ragnar share a look with Hulda from across the hall.

It was that same look Ivar had as he gazed at the red-headed girl next to him.

Hulda had also been looking at both Ivar and her daughter, but her eyes trailed to Aslaug. The red woman too felt the shift in the air, but she had felt it much sooner. Like an animal prior to a storm, she knew something was coming, and it was now that the winds of change had beat through the city like a cloud of arrows. Bonds were going to be severed, relationships will be strained, and people were going to die.

**— — —**

Ivar laid like a dead fish, staring at the sky that was obstructed by tangled branches and green leafs. One of his hands fisted the rune that hung around his neck, while the other one dug into his cuticles with his thumb. He tried his best not to wince in pain, but his teeth digging into his bottom lip was a dead gave him away.

Hulda had promised him weeks ago that she would give him something that was taken away from him. At the time, he was confused, but after some dilberating, he realized what she meant: his legs. After they had left the great all, Hulda put a hand on her shoulder and told him to come to her hut by noon, and not to tell his mother. Without questions, Ivar had done what he was told, which lead him to this position.

He was bare bottomed, with only a loincloth protecting his privacy, laying on a wooden table as the soft pedal like finger tips of the witch massaged his thin and frail legs. Ivar was grateful that Hulda had sent Kára off to hunt and fish for the day, for the boy never felt more embarrassed and vulnerable in his life. The only person alive that had seen him this nude, especially his legs, was his mother. But under the natural light of the sun, Ivar was exposed to the world, and the idea that someone might stroll into the clearing made his heart pump rapidly. It didn't help that a stranger's fingers were sliding along his most sensitive limbs.

Ivar winced when she had felt along his calves, his most weakest bones next to his ankles.   
Over the years Ivar had become immune to the pain his legs had caused, to a certain extent. When the weather got chilly, his bones quaked and ached. Recently, though, as his body began to grow, the pain had been almost unbearable some nights. His calves had always been particularly painful.

"You had broken your leg here," He heard Hulda said, her finger running along the deformation under the stretched and thin skin. "Do you remember when this happened?"

With his eyes tightly shut, he shook his head, "No. It has always been painful."

"That is because it was not properly set, so it did not heal properly," the woman let out a sigh, and went to examine the left leg. His skin was littered with purple and green bruises from dragging his body around; his sensitive skin keen to bruising as easy as placing a finger onto the skin for more than a minute. It was a wonder he had not died from pain alone. "For it to grow evenly, we would have to break it again to reset it."

At that, Ivar sat up on his elbows to look at Hulda with a wildly incredulous look, "Are you insane?"

Hulda looked at him with a raised eyebrow, but otherwise neutral expression, "If we do not reset this bone, Ivar, you will never walk like a normal man."

"Do not get my hopes up, woman!" He sighed and laid back down on the table. "My legs were broken since birth. The gods had already decided I would never walk."

"You were born with bent knees, not broken bones," Hulda's words made Ivar squint and roll his head to her. She was sitting on a stool with her legs crossed looking at him.

"What do you mean?"

"I helped give birth to you, so I know what you looked like when you took your first scream into this world. Your legs were bent at the knees, and the shape of your bones would not straighten as a normal babe's would. As a midwife, I've seen many babes being born with deformities, but your birth was the first, and not the last."

His brow furrowed as he looked at her, "There are others like me?"

"There are no others like you, Ivar," she smiled before continuing. "You were in a lot of pain because your legs were restless, and you could not bend them comfortably. We all believed your legs were broken, and you would never walk. By the time I learned otherwise, it was too late; you were two or three years old, and your legs had grown so weak already, that to try to fix anything would only cause you more pain, because you were so young, it might kill you. If you hadn't spent your entire life in a cot and barrow all your life, you might have developed muscle and fat in your legs that would have saved you from breaking a bone. But now-- now is the perfect time to fix what has been broken for a long time."

"Why now?"

"You are growing into a man, and your bones are growing faster than before. If we fix this now, they will grow in the right direction."

Ivar let out a defeated sigh, not wanting to re break his most sensitive calf bone. He thought back to Harbard, who he had vague memories of visually. All that he remembered of the man was what his mother told him, and that was how he cured his pain with a touch and a prayer.

The boy looked back at Hulda, "Isn't there some kind of magic that could heal my legs or kill my pain? A man named Harbard--"

"I know who Harbard is, and I know what he had done," Hulda's face visibly turned sour. Ivar quirked an eyebrow and opened his mouth to ask her what her problem with the wanderer was, but she continued for him. "Harbard is no god, like many of them say. He is a deceiver, a trickster, who takes advantage of times when men leave to raid and leave their women behind."

Ivar furrowed his eyebrow at this, "But he healed my pain."

Hulda's face began soften, but there was a vindictiveness in her eyes as they settled on his. "Ivar, do you know who your niece, Siggy, was named after?"

He blinked at the random question, but shook his head no.

"Siggy was an amazing woman and friend, not only to me, but to Helga, Lagertha, and your mother. She was also the wife of Earl Haraldson, the former earl of Kattegat that your father defeated, and then later became the lover of your uncle, Rollo. She took care of you, your brothers, and was there when you were born.

"Before Harbard had came to Kattegat, your mother, Helga, Siggy and I all had visions of him shortly after Ragnar and his warband left to England. While Helga and your mother had taken a liking to Harbard, Siggy and I were not easily fooled by him. The two of us warned Aslaug not to trust him, but she was so smitten she did not heed those warnings until it was too late.

"I had warned Aslaug that all magic has a price to be paid, but she refused to believe me, and instead chose Harbard, and allowed him to use his magic to heal your pain. One night, during of the coldest days of that winter, your brother Ubbe and Hvitserk had fled the great hall suddenly, and traveled through the woods hand in hand. Siggy had run after them with nothing to shield her from the cold, not even shoes. She followed the trail until she found them standing on the thin ice of the lake. The ice collapsed underneath them, and Siggy plunged into the water.

"Your niece was named after the woman who had saved your brothers' lives, but in doing so her life had replaced theirs. Harbard drowned her in the lake, because life was the debt that needed to be paid for the magic he had done. If it was not going to be your brothers, it would have been someone else."

Ivar had listened silently, showing no sign of his reaction to this side of the story. It was a complete contrast to what his mother had told him about Harbard. She never once mentioned Siggy, let alone that someone had to die in order for him to be relieved of his pain. As young as he was, Ivar was intelligent and clever, and understood now more than ever what ignited the uneasy relationship between his mother and Hulda the Red.

Aslaug had chosen Harbard, a deceiver, over Hulda, a life-long friend.

One thing Ivar could not digest was the idea that his two older brothers nearly died for him without their consent or knowledge. Moreso, Ivar didn't know how to wrap his head around the idea that someone he didn't know, or had no memory of, had died for him. Perhaps not willfully, or perhaps she had allowed Harbard to drown her in the lake. Another life, Ivar realized, was given to the gods for the sake of saving the Ragnarssons. Eirik, Hulda's first child, was said to have fought in the siege orchestrated by Jarl Borg and had died protecting the queen and her sons.

Ivar had no idea how many more lives were given to the pursuit of keeping him and his brothers alive, but it seemed that Hulda had lost two people to the cause. A son, and a friend, and Aslaug repaid their sacrifices by forgetting them.

He didn't realize it, but his eyes had trailed to the floor for the longest time, completely lost in his thoughts. Ivar still couldn't decide if he could swallow this truth. He was cross that he was lied to more than anything; his mother allowed him to put Harbard on a pedestal as if he was Odin himself. The older he got, he suspected there was more man to the myth of the wanderer, but he didn't even consider that Harbard was a deceiver. There was some part of him that didn't want to believe in Hulda, but he was a smart kid. His mother had more of a reason to lie than the Völva did.

"I do not wish for anyone else to die for me," Ivar set his jaw and turned his head to look at the red woman. "How much is this going to hurt?"

"I will give you some poppy milk to help, but it will still feel like hot rods sticking up your leg."

Ivar swallowed the bile in his throat and looked back at the trees. He had lived his life endearing the pain that still originated from his legs, and yet he was still afraid of it. But-- if he wanted to be viking, if he wanted to be like his father, and greater than his brothers, then pain is something he would not escape from. Pain reminded him he was alive.

He felt her gentle touch again, but this time on his cheek as she turned him to face her, "All worthy things in this world are not obtained easily, Ivar. However, it will always be your choice to choose between the easy path, or the one less traveled by."

Ivar took another beat to mull over her words before making a decision. The negatives of this choice of course were flooding to the forefront of his mind, but then suddenly he remembered that day he crawled up the hill, and sat under that tree. Kára was in that tree, and he acutely remembered the envy he had that she was able to climb up there and even hang upside down by her knees with ease.

"Do it," he squared his shoulders against the table and looked up at the branches that hung over him. One day he will be sitting in them with her.

Moments later, about a quarter of a mile away, Kára sat in the elbow of a tree, looking down at a cluster of pheasants pecking at the ground for worms. Her bow was aimed and ready to shoot a particular fat looking one when suddenly a blood curdling scream shook the forest and caused the birds to fly away at the abrupt and loud disturbance.

**— — —**

Explaining to Aslaug the reason behind Ivar's broken leg would be result in immediate death, so Ivar had opted to avoid telling her the truth entirely. He told her he had rolled down a hill and slammed his leg on a jutted boulder, and that Hulda was close enough that ran to him on time and mended him immediately. Nevertheless, his mother freaked out over his carelessness, and chose to keep Ivar beside him for the next few days.

However, Hulda was not finished with her treatment for his legs. She had splinted them and bound them at the thigh and knee in order to straighten the knocked knees, but in order for him to one day stand with any semblance of strength, he needed to eat the correct foods. Being that most of the healers of Kattegat had left with Ragnar to tend to their wounded, Hulda was Aslaug's last resort, which was the only reason why she allowed her to stay in the Great Hall to take care of his broken legs.

Ivar never ate so much liver in his life; not to mention as much fruit as Hulda made him eat. He was used to consuming porridge every morning like most children do, but his diet had doubled. After two moons passed, Ivar felt his stomach bulge from the food he had consumed, but most importantly, he noticed his thighs had gotten thicker to the point where they needed to loosen the bindings, and resize him for new trousers.

Kára took amusement to his growing tummy, often poking the doughiness of it just to watch his gut jiggle, then promptly laugh like a child right after. As annoying as that was, it was nothing compared to Sigurd calling him "Ivar the Fatness" every chance he got. During dinner one day, Kára had flung a potato from her spoon right into Sigurd's eye, and called him "Sigurd-Potato-In-The-Eye" ever since.

At the third month of his healing process, he was given permission to leave the comfort of the Great Hall and Aslaug's watchful eye. He was still splinted, and wasn't able to drag himself, but he was allowed to be pushed around by Sigurd and Kára around Kattegat. His niece, Siggy, sat on his lap, screaming her delights as she was pushed around.

By the time the sun began to set, Siggy had fallen asleep on Ivar's lap, Sigurd was forced to pick her up and take her back to the longhouse while Kára and Ivar remained. They sat at the bank of water near Floki's hut, which was abandoned with both Helga and the boatman in Paris. Being away from the city, it was blissfully quiet there. Ever since Ivar had been allowed out of the safety of the longhouse, it had become their chosen destination to go and talk. There wasn't much else that Ivar could do with his splinted leg, and bound to the wheelbarrow as he was once when he was small. So most of their time spent together was fletching arrows, telling tales of the gods, and talking about what they wish their futures would be.

"Now that you are no longer afraid of the water, sailing on a raid should no longer be an issue for you, " Ivar looked off in the water as he dug up a slim rock and attempted to skid it across the surface of the river, only for it to plop into it.

Kára scrunched up her face, "The sea is much deeper and darker than the lake," she looked at her own smooth rock in her hand and backed up. Flinging it, it had skated off the surface of the water three times before plunging into water. "There are many unknown creatures it can hide."

Ivar craned his neck to look at her, "How do you know this?"

"It is home to Jörmungandr **,** " she replied matter-of-factly. "And the sea is not like the lake, which freezes solid and unmoving once a year. The lake can be easily navigated, and never changes in size or depth. But the sea is unpredictable and unforgiving, and no god can control it."

"It has no master," Ivar added, which earned a nod from Kára.

She took a moment to let out a long sigh before continuing, "Besides, Floki told me of a creature tha---"

Ivar blinked, and looked back over at Kára when she cut herself off. "That what--?"

She didn't reply, though Ivar didn't need her to. He followed her gaze further down the bay, where a man in travelers garb stood. His cloak was brown and rough, his tunic over worn and faded in colour, and his hair was plaited in a braid so long it reached the small of his back. The man was far away, and looked unarmed, but Kára wasted no time in grabbing the woodcutter's axe from the stump nearby.

"At ease, children," the man said, the voice eerily familiar to Ivar. There was an odd comfort to it, almost like Hulda's, but at the same time, it felt like it came from the lips of a liar. Kára's grip on the axe tightened, but the man continued his slow steps towards them, this time with his hands out in surrender. "I mean you no harm."

"Says the wolf to the doe," Kára muttered. "Name yourself, traveller, so I may know what runes to mark your shallow grave."

Kára's threat stirred something in Ivar he couldn't quite comprehend. It was akin to excitement, but instead of the familiar rapid beatings of his heart caused by adrenalin, it ached his stomach and pelvis. However, he could not dwell on this feeling any longer, because the stranger's eyes were on him this time.

"I am a friend of Ivar's," the man said, earning Ivar a confused look from Kára. Ivar was just as confused, but when he moved his eyes from his red-headed friend and back to the stranger, the man was closer and Ivar had a better look at him. "Do you not remember me, Ivar?" his smile was soft, knowing, and unwavering.

Kára's hand had not slackened from the firm grip she had on the axe, nor did her eyes stray far away from the stranger, and his movements. The moment he came walking towards Ivar, she had placed herself between him and her friend. This action made the stranger move his eyes to Kára, with that smile of ease still in place. His eyes, deep and mysterious as they were, sparkled with interest now that he could see the girl's fire.

However, the longer the traveller looked into her eyes, the smile began to fall a fraction. Kára did not tear her eyes from him, but the moment the turn of his lips moved into a straight line, her brow furrowed deeper.

"Who. Are. You?" She demanded again, raising the axe over her shoulder, ready to plunge the blade between his eyes.

"I think that is a question you should be asking yourself," the man said, the straight line of his mouth now returning to his smile of ease.

"Harbard," came another voice, "His name is Harbard."

All three heads turned to the trees; a sea of green and brown, save for a canvas of flowing red fabrics and blood red hair. Hulda's white face peaked beyond the hood of her cloak, her eyes like two sharp arrowheads glittering under the flaming sun, and they pointed at the shrouded stranger.

The man, Harbard, slowly stepped back from his approach of the two children upon seeing the Völva standing there. He tilted his head up, exposing his neck, not unlike an animal submitting to an alpha. Hulda moved along the grass and over the gravel before she reached her daughter's side.

"Kára, it is time to bring Ivar back home,"

"But, mother--" In a rapid movement, Hulda's eyes were on the girl, a look like she had never seen. Clamping her mouth shut, she dropped the woodcutter's axe into the stump and hurried over to Ivar and his wheelbarrow.

Hulda had waited until they were out of earshot and out of sight before turning to look at Harbard. Her jaw was as hard as steel as she regarded him for a silent second.

"Your company is not wanted in Kattegat."

Harbard quirked an eyebrow, "You cannot prevent me from going into the city."

"Perhaps I cannot stop your physical body," she admits, but steps closer, "But you have no power here anymore. You will no longer blind and torture the Seer as you did all those years ago, and you will no longer be taking any lives as you did before."

Harbard merely stared at her in silence, his face neutral for the most part, but her warning had wiped off any ease he wore on his features. "Does Aslaug approve of this, I wonder? You, repressing my magic here, and the work you've doing on her favourite son's legs?" He tilted his head and brought back his simple smile. "Do not doubt my love for Queen Aslaug, her sons, and the people of Kattegat. That love extends to you, as well, Hulda the Red, if you would only open your heart to me as the others."

Hulda narrowed her eyes at him, but remained silent.

Harbard took a step closer to her, "How lonely you must be, after all these years a widow--" he paused and leaned back when he felt the curved iron blade tucked under his chin.

The witch remained unmoved in her spot, only her arm, extended to reach his height as it balanced the iron dagger under his bearded chin. "I would not use that word so loosely, Harbard. Love is rare; use it foolishly, and you will never be able to recognize it when you see its true form."

"Do you speak from experience?"

A second hand reached out to him, too fast that he hadn't a moment to react, but he wished he had. She grabbed his beard and the iron sagger sliced through the hair like fabric. In her hand she held half of his beard. This meant many different things; she emasculated him, but most of all, what she held in her hand was a leverage. If she really wanted to, she could turn him into a puppet, but he knew that she wasn't the kind of witch.

He watched with wide eyes as she tucked the lock of his beard between her breasts, "And what do you intend to do with that?"

Hulda began to walk backwards around him, the dagger still clutched in her hand, "Collateral damage." That's all she needed to say for him to understand.

Hulda returned to the forest that protected her all these years, and left him where he stood. Harbard intended to finish what he began the last time he had been in Kattegat, but with his magic repressed, and now his life in the hands of a woman who hated him, his only tool was his charm. Any sacrifice he made for a ritual, be it animal or otherwise, would only end up backfiring and killing him instead. So with a tentative step, Harbard began his trek towards Kattegat, where he knew someone else was waiting for him, for a very long time.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Information regarding my decision that I had mentioned in the prologue to change Ivar's condition:
> 
> So I don't claim to be a medical expert, and anatomy and medicine could only go so far back then, so what Hulda spoke of probably isn't 100%. But I digress: I changed the condition Ivar has, because if you actually look into it, there is no proof he had Osteogenesis Imperfecta (brittle bone disease), or was disabled at all. Historics have claimed he was called boneless because he was ruthless and felt no pain. But i'd never take away his disability for the sake of convenience, I just wanted to make it more realistic, because contrary to what the show portrays, that isn't how Osteogenesis Imperfecta works. They got the blue eyes right, but to be frank, if he did have Osteogenesis Imperfecta, he a) wouldn't be impotent, because it has nothing to do with the ability to procreate or get an erection b) his legs wouldn't be the only thing that is affected by the disease (eg. his teeth would be small and brittle, his spine would be curved, he would be shorter than he should be, he would have bad eyesight.), and c) there are a long list of other issues that people with Osteogenesis Imperfecta face that would make what he does extremely difficult physically.
> 
> Bare in mind I have done enough research on this before I made this decision. I as well have discussed the opinions of other fans and history nerds about this and they all agree that the direction in the show does not reflect what Osteogenesis Imperfecta actually looks like. This may be an unpopular opinion to one or more of you, and I'm willing to discuss what I got wrong with anyone through private messaging, but at the end of the day, my decision for Ivar was to give him another disability.
> 
> I gave him undiagnosed and untreated Genu valgum, also known as knock-knee, which is common in a lot of infants after birth. My idea was that due to the lack of knowledge in this area, everyone believed that Ivar could never walk when they saw his misshapen legs when he was born, and as a result had bound him to sitting his entire life, which contributed to his fragile legs, because they lacked muscle and fat to protect his bones. At a young age he broke his leg and it was left untreated and thus healed wrong, and that was why he was in so much pain.
> 
> Even though I hinted at the possibility of Ivar walking again with Hulda's care, I will never take away his disability; he would not be Ivar without it. He will always have a difficult time walking; this was just to explain how he was able to stand on his knees and eventually gain the leg power to stand up in the later seasons using his crutches and metal splint and not be in severe pain.


	13. 12: the winter winds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With Harbard's return to Kattegat, Hulda and Kara's life completely shatters.

  
  


The atmosphere of Kattegat had changed the moment Harbard had returned. The women that remembered him flocked to his side, and more after the newcomers learned of the stories of him. Aslaug, above all else, was especially happy at his return and it only amplified knowing that Hulda was not happy. It was a smug happiness, one that she was content showing off when Hulda was within proximity of the two. She would drape herself all over Harbard when she sat next to him, and then sneak glances at the Red Woman to see her reaction. Hulda, though, was a stone wall. She had a permanent frown, but she barely looked at the queen or the wanderer. Instead, she focused all her energy at attending to Ivar, who Harbard would constantly try to help with. Despite Aslaug's best efforts, Harbard barely put a finger on the boy, thanks to Hulda's relentless insistence. Not wanting to cause a scene (now that their audience in the Great Hall had tripled upon Harbard's return), Aslaug bit her tongue and allowed Hulda this one reprieve.

Kára, Ivar, and Sigurd could not stand the tension that was only noticeable to them. Often times the trio would remain in a corner while the adults talked. The children talked among themselves about the sheer ridiculousness that Kattegat turned into in a short amount of time. Aslaug had become so distracted with her paramour, that she had forgotten her duties as mother, queen, and apparent caregiver to her step-granddaughter. Siggy was taken care of by Kára, if not her mother or Sigurd's small efforts. At one point, Kára spent a whole late morning trying to get the knots out of the girl's hair, which resulted in a fight that was comical to the boys who watched. Though justice was rightly served when Siggy peed right on Ivar's lap the following evening.

Ivar was surprised by Hulda's resolve to remain in Kattegat. He had thought she would disappear back to her forest the moment he came back, but she remained, hovering over the city like a hawk, especially around him, Sigurd, Kára and Siggy. When it came time to remove Ivar's splint, something he had been waiting to do all summer, there was a feud between Aslaug and Hulda. Aslaug did not believe it was time to remove them, stating that he was not like a normal boy, and needed extra time to heal, whereas Hulda argued that he needed to move his legs now that he had gained weight in them. The bone, she said, was healed correctly, and he needed to do some physical moving to ensure his knees remained straight and his muscles strong. They came to a surprising compromise, where he was allowed to take off the splint and leave the wheelbarrow, but he would have to bound his legs again. Ivar felt like he had done all that work only to remain exactly the same as he once was, which frustrated him beyond anything. One thing he was grateful for was that now that his legs were thicker, crawling around the ground didn't rattle his bones as it used to, but he did have a harder time dragging the weight behind him.

As the days became shorter, summer was beginning to end. Fall brought a refreshing breeze against the blistering heat of summer, which was appreciated by everyone in Kattegat. It made labour less cumbersome now that heat waves were in the past. However, this also marked the beginning of harvest, which meant that Ragnar and his warband would return any week now, and so would winter. Winter was one of Ivar's most dreaded seasons; he could barely leave the longhouse during it. While sliding around on ice and snow was a bit easier than on dry ground, it only made his fingers numb and his palms sting from cold. Not to mention the cold itself made his bones ache like never before. Every winter was usually spent beside the hearth with furs piled on his legs. Because of this, Ivar wanted to make the most of the remaining warmth of the season, as he spent most of it leg-locked in a cot or wheelbarrow.

While Aslaug was preoccupied with Harbard, and Hulda was busy tending to Siggy, Ivar had convinced Kára to go on a hike with them. It wasn't so much as a hike than it was a walk to a specific destination. It was up that very hill, to that very tree where they first met. He wondered if Kára even recognized it, since she never made a comment about it when they reached their destination.

As Ivar slid over to the base of the tree, he watched Kára stand before him as she rummaged through her sack and pulled out a skin of water, and a few pieces of salted dehydrated pork. She caught him staring at her, and gave a quizzical brow at him. Tossing the skin of water at Ivar, she moved over to sit next to him.

"What's on your mind?" She asked, taking a bite of the dried pork.

Ivar gave a small shrug as he stared into the mouthpiece of the skin before taking a small sip. "I was just thinking what the world looked like from above ground level."

He said it so casually, but Kára spotted the sadness hidden behind the nonchalance. It was a sad statement overall, but to a stranger, his tone would have confused them into thinking it was a joke. Though Kára couldn't help but think that Ivar would rather people see it as a joke, rather than pity him for the truth of it.

She took the skin of water from him, "We could have brought you a stool if you really wanted to see everything from a different perspective."

Ivar rolled his eyes and shoved her goodnaturedly. He stole the pork from her and took a bite, and chewed while looking around. A gust of wind blew through the trees, rustling the green and yellow leaves and causing some to fly off the branch. Autumn was approaching and soon winter. Ivar's mouth turned into a thin line at this depressive thought before another came to mind.

"Or maybe," he spoke, looking up at the tree. "A higher perspective?"

Kára turned to look at him with another quizzical brow, and then she looked up to where he was looking. When she realizes what he was talking about, she rounded on him.

"And how in Hel's name are you going to get up there? Wrap yourself around the trunk like a snape and wiggle up?"

"No," he grinned wildly as he looked at her. "You're going to carry me up there."

Kára deadpanned, then sighed exaggeratingly and shook her head, "I am not carrying your fat ass up that tree. I don't know if you've noticed but you've practically doubled in size."

"You won't help a poor crippled boy? How cruel of you, Kára," He mocked, and laughed as she rolled her eyes.

"If I carry you up there, _I'll_ end up crippled,"

"If you do this for me, I'll give you your bow back."

Ah, that made her pause. Her eyes narrowed at him in contemplation for the offer. When she pursed her lips and looked away, Ivar knew he won and for that he grinned wider. Kára looked at him through slitted eyes, unhappy at that smug look on his face. That cheeky grin made her stomach float around in her ribcage, as if fireflies were bobbing around inside.

With a defeated groan, Kára stood up, mumbling about privileged princes, and how she wished Ivar was a deaf mute instead of boneless. Ivar made quick work of his bindings so he may wrap his legs around her when she picked him up. Kára dusted herself off and took off excess stuff belted on her before offering her hand to the prince and began to pull him on her back. Once he hung around her neck, Kára leaned against the tree to balance herself as she took his legs and brought them around her waist, and then bound them with rope at the ankle to secure him. She wasn't sure how strong his calves were just yet, and she didn't want to take the risk of him losing his grip.

With a groan she straightened herself and turned to the tree, which appeared to look twice as tall than moments ago. With Ivar weighing her on her back, she had half a mind to fall backwards on top of him, but knew to suppress that urge.

"Onwards, donkey," Ivar patted her head.

Kára's glare deepened, "I will drop you, and leave you here."

"And if I die, know that I will come back from Valhalla just to torture you from beyond the grave,"

With a heavy sigh, Kára started to climb by first grabbing onto the low hanging branches. The moment her feet were off solid ground, she felt Ivar's hold on her tighten, and got more tight the higher they got.

"Don't choke me," her voice was strained as she put all her muscles to work.

"Don't drop me."

It was meant as a clap back, but his voice sounded anxious. Kára grit her jaw and hoisted herself higher, but knew that, for Ivar, she couldn't go too high. Mainly because the branches nearest to the ground were far sturdier than those closer to the top, but also for his own anxiety. As Kára claimed a branch, she mounted it with both her legs on either side and began to pull herself and Ivar a tad farther down the length with great difficulty. She didn't need to move that far, just enough space for the two of them to sit on.

Kára let out a groan when she felt something prod her, "Ivar, can you move that stick from my back?"

She couldn't see it, but Ivar's face glowed red. There was a pregnant pause before she heard "uh" from Ivar, and then his body shift away from her. Whatever it was that was poking her side was gone now.

The girl loosened the knot around Ivar's ankles and unraveled his legs so that he was mounting the branch, and then went ahead and spun around so she was sitting on it with her legs over the side. She breathed heavily, feeling relieved of the loss of excess weight now that Ivar was no longer tied to her back.

Kára gave a great sigh, and then gestured to the elevated scenery, "Please tell me you're happy, otherwise my pain and suffering would be for nought."

Ivar didn't answer. When she looked over to him, she saw him staring into the distance. They were only 8-10 feet above the ground, but for a person who had lived their entire life seeing the world from the ground, being this high was a whole new perspective. The world seemed so much larger to Ivar as he gazed beyond the bluffs that hugged Kattegat. The sea seemed to stretch on farther than he initially thought.

"It's so big," he spoke in a soft voice.

"The ocean?"

"The world."

Kára softly smiled at him, and reached out to wrap her arm around his neck and leaned her head on his while the two gazed into the great horizon. They both shared the same thoughts in that singular moment: one day, they will see this big world. They were both at the sail of their fate, and only they were the masters of their sea.

**— — —**

The longhouse was relatively calm, despite the fact that Harbard was present. He sat with the queen, in Ragnar's throne, as he whispered stories into Aslaug's ear, making her laugh. Hulda was near the hearth with Siggy and Sigurd, in her hands she was mending a rip in Sigurd's trousers, while Siggy played with a wooden horse at her feet. Sigurd was slumped in the chair, glaring into the fire, and then glaring up at Harbard.

"He sits in father's chair like he is king himself," Sigurd whispered with detest.

Hulda barely gave a glance up at the giggling couple before returning her eyes to her mending, "Pay him no mind, Sigurd. He will be gone before the ships return, proving the coward that he is."

"I hope father comes before he leaves," The boy muttered, eyes narrowing into the fire as he imagined such a scenario. "Cuts off his tongue, and throws it in the fire. He won't be telling tales anymore."

Hulda could barely hold back the smirk at the boy's comment, but did not take her eyes away from her fingers. She didn't want to betray any indication she was having a conversation with Sigurd while his mother was 20 feet away.

The crackling of fire, soft giggles and whispers from across the room resumed. Every now and then Siggy would make noises as she played, followed by the wooden horse tapping against the stone ground. All seemed content, until Hulda felt her ears ring. She paused her mending and looked around the room, intently listening to the sounds around her. Sigurd turned to her, and frowned at her sudden alertness.

"What is it?"

"Somethings wro--" and that's when she heard it. The cry of a child, and not just any child, but her own daughter. Kára's cries of help filtered through the walls of the longhouse enough for all the adults to shoot up from their seats. The mending in Hulda's hand fell onto the floor as she took swift movements towards the door, followed behind by Harbard and Aslaug. However, before any of them reached it, it flung open.

Kára's face was wet and red, sweat beaded down her forehead and drenched her hairline, and tears trailing down to her chin. In her arms laid a limp Ivar, his forehead split open, and blood pouring all over his face. His eyes were shut, and his legs were lax dragging behind her.

"Help!"

The peace in the longhouse was now a distant past. As soon as Aslaug saw her son with a blood drenched face, she went into a frenzy. She flew to the entrance and wretched the boy out of Kára's arms as if she was the assaulter. The queen's white hot fury met with her anxiety as a mother, and with her beloved Ivar limp in her arms, everyone else in the room meant nothing to her.

She rounded on Kára first, grabbing the girl by the hair with vice and pulled her down to her knees. "WHAT HAVE YOU DONE TO MY SON, YOU VILE ANIMAL?!"

Kára yelled out in pain, hands whipping to the clutch Aslaug had in her hair. Hulda immediately responded and grabbed the queen's hand, her nails dug into the flesh of her hand. The Red Woman's eyes were on fire as she stared down at the crazed queen.

"Let go of my daughter!"

Aslaug did not. She matched the woman's furious gaze with her own mother's rage which was blurred by both tears and unbridled hatred. It wasn't until Harbard's gentle hand on her shoulders and gentle words did she bend to Hulda.

"Let the girl go, Aslaug," he whispered, looking up at Hulda, and then down at Ivar.

With a great wail, Aslaug pulled her hand out of the tangles of the girls hair, and Kára immediately crumpled into her mother's arms, and cried into the folds of her dress. Immediately Hulda bent down and took her daughter into arms, letting the girl fall apart into her bosom.

"Kára, what happened?"

"We--he-- the tree--the branch," Kára kept on taking sharp inhales. Every time she tried to speak, she felt the well of tears and despair pouring out of her, and every time she looked at Ivar, her world crumbled more out of guilt.

Her mother held onto the sides of her face and directed her to stare into her eyes, "Kára look at me. What happened?"

Those seaweed marble eyes of hers glistened with waterfalls; thick streams poured down her flushed cheeks freely and without cease. "He wanted to see what it was like," she spoke with a hiccup. "He wanted to go up-up -- the tree. I took him. And---and--- _and_ ," her eyes shifted over back to Ivar and she was hysterical again. There was no need for more words. Whether the branch fell under their weight, or they fell ascending or descending mattered not. Ivar fell.

And that was all Aslaug needed to know.

"You killed my son! YOU KILLED MY SON! YOU PUSHED HIM OUT OF THAT TREE! I KNEW YOU WERE A WRETCH THE DAY I SET EYES ON YOU!"

Hulda pulled her daughter behind her as she stood up and glared at the woman. "Aslaug! Do not _dare_ accuse my daughter of such a thing!" Siggy was crying in the background, being poorly consoled by Sigurd, who stared at his brother with wide, frightful eyes.

If Aslaug wasn't cradling Ivar's body in her arms, she would have gotten up and slapped the woman and gouged out her eyes. Her feverish hands grasped at her favourite son to her chest, with her fury directed at Hulda untethered.

"This would have _never_ happened if you hadn't returned to Kattegat! You're a curse, _Thora_. You vile witch! You traitorous bitch! Your beastily daughter _KILLED MY SON!!! SHE KILLED MY SON!!!"_

"Aslaug--" Harbard had been silent until this moment. His hands were butterflies on her shoulders, barely noticeable until he spoke. "Aslaug, look. His chest rises. Your son is not dead."

The company immediately looked over to the boy, and saw that Harbard spoke true. Ivar's chest rose and descended with shallow breaths. It was almost unnoticeable, but it was there, and he was alive. Aslaug gave a sharp intake of breath once she realized her Ivar was alive. Her hands immediately went to his blood soaked face and begged for him to come back to her.

At this news, Kára peaked around her mother with wide hopeful and shocked eyes. She thought he died. Hulda immediately moved to go to the boy's side to see to his wounds, but before she move an inch, Aslaug rounded on her once again.

"DO NOT TOUCH HIM!! GET OUT, YOU WITCH. TAKE YOUR BEASTILY DAUGHTER WITH YOU AND NEVER RETURN. IF I SEE SO MUCH AS A THREAD OF YOUR CURSED HAIR IN MY CITY AGAIN, I WILL KILL YOU MYSELF!!!"

The winds of winter came early that season. The longhouse felt cold, even next to the hearth. Kára froze still behind her mother as all the blood drained from her body. Aslaug couldn't do this, could she? But she could. She was queen, and Ragnar was not there. She could not see the look on her mother's face, she could not see anyone's face, except for Ivar's. Coated in his own blood, a gash on his forehead, and lips just barely parted. Everything around her deafened into an endless ringing in her ears as she watched her world slowly crumble away from her. Her mother's arms wrapped around her waist and lifted her up, and that is when she fought against her to get to Ivar. Her legs kicking as she tried to fight against her mother's pull. Wiping furiously at her face to free her from the veil of tears, she screamed and begged not to go.

The last thing Kára saw before the door swung closed in front of her was Aslaug's vicious and hateful gaze blaring right into her eyes. That was to be her last memory of Kattegat.

**— — —**

The night was silent and cloudless, only the ruffling of leaves and branches could be heard. Hulda sat outside, sitting upon a chair as she looked off into the darkness, both her heart and mind trapped in replaying the day's events. When she had brought Kára home, there was no way to console or calm her. The heartbroken girl had fought and clawed relentlessly, trying to get back to the city, to Ivar. In the end, Hulda resorted to giving her poppy milk to ease her to sleep and ease the pain in her heart. When the girl would wake up in the morning, Hulda had not the faintest idea of what to do, or what to tell her. Things would have to remain as they were until Ragnar returned.

_If he returned._

Hulda shut her eyes and then opened them as she turned her head to look at Harbard standing just at the border of the clearing. They both stared at each other before Hulda pulled herself from the chair and glided over to him with her arms crossed over her chest.

"The boy is alive," Harbard spoke. "But he has not woken."

Hulda looked down at the ground and nodded, "He needs proper care, and I cannot help him from here."

"But I can," he spoke in a small voice. "If you return what is mine."

She looked back at him, her eyes etched in defeat, resentment, and solemn. Harbard looked at her with pity, something she did not want from him. Alas, she knew that despite his deceptiveness, he did not want to cause pain to Aslaug. Ivar was the thread to Aslaug's happiness, as well as the thread to Kára's happiness. Ivar's survival was beneficial to them both, and not to mention, Hulda had come to love Ivar and Ragnar's sons as much as her own kin.

Hulda reached into the crevice of her bodice and pulled out the straggly fibres of Harbard's beard that she had bound in twine. She held it and looked at him through narrowed eyes, "If you make me regret this, Harbard, I will hunt you down myself."

"I do not expect anything less from you," he replied, his eyes not tearing from her.

With great reluctance, she handed the bundle of hair over to its owner. Harbard took it and closed both of his hands together before giving and small bow of thanks and then retreated back into the forest.

**— — —**

"Ivar... Ivar wake up."

His head felt like an iron hammer sinking in water, and his thoughts were murky and indistinguishable as the deep sea. He could hear his mother's voice distantly, and then clearly, as if he was being pulled closer to the surface. When he opened his eyes, he found himself in his mother's bed; a familiar and comforting setting that was by no means strange. What was strange was that he had no recollection of how he got there, but he was, and his head hurt like never before. Ivar lulled his head to the side and blinked a few times until his mother's smiling face came into view. It was a mournful smile, one that came with dewy eyes and a red nose.

"Mother?"

She gave a soft laugh, one of relief, and took his hands to her lips and kissed it, "thank the gods." 

"What happened? My head hurts."

"Do not worry, my love. You will never see that horrible girl again. She will not hurt you."

Ivar squinted at his mother, then reached up to his forehead and winced when he felt the tender spot. He scrunched up his face in confusion, "What girl?"

Aslaug opened her mouth to answer, but then stopped herself. She stared at her son for a while, and slowly asked him, "What do you remember from yesterday, Ivar?"

Ivar continued to squint at his mother in complete confusion. His head hurt from trying to make sense of where he was, and how he got there. He tried hard to remember what he was doing before, but all he could get were fragments; a tree blooming in spring, an arrowhead, orange curtains, and eyes that looked like the summer sea. But all that seemed like a dream. No, that wasn't what he last remembered from yesterday.

"I was... at home, playing tafl with Ubbe."

Aslaug bit her lip and shut her eyes before inhaling very deeply and resumed her gentle smile. "Ivar, do you remember Harbard?"

When she said that name, a man approached from behind her; his aura was calming and familiar. That smile was as inviting as his loving gaze, and instantly Ivar remember who he was. He was the man who took away his pain. The boy smiled broadly, and laughed.

**— — —**

All it took was a fortnight, in that fortnight, Sigurd saw much that would forever haunt him and taint his opinion of his mother, and strengthened his distaste for Harbard. In those days he witnessed Harbard sleep with every woman in Kattegat, and when he guided his mother to that hut across town to show her who the man actually was, it tore her in two. He was keenly aware of the fragility of his mother's mind as of late, but he hadn't suspected that Harbard's infidelity would be the tipping point. From throwing tantrums in the longhouse, taking long walks in the pouring rain whilst crying profusely, to drowning herself in cups of sweet wine. Then there was Ivar...

Ivar had always been a spoiled little shit to Sigurd, but ever since he came to from his head injury, he had changed dramatically. It was like any sliver of good in him was gone, just like his memory. He became as cruel as his mother became distant, and since the two spent copious amounts of time together, both of their personalities made for some unhealthy atmospheres. Aslaug was drunk most of the time, and depressed and self-pitying the rest. Sigurd was aware of her mother's dislike towards the Red Woman and that _had_ made her happy that Hulda and her daughter were no longer in Kattegat. That happiness abruptly ended when Harbard was outed as a deceiver who threw around love like it was stale bread for orphans. Hulda was right about him all along, but Aslaug was too prideful to admit to it, especially not to herself. The queen's feud with her former friend was built on jealousy and denial, both ingredients that came from Aslaug's cup alone. She would never admit herself a fool, not to Hulda, not to anyone.

Sigurd was playing in the river with his boat one afternoon. Without his brothers and Kára to keep him company, he was reduced to petty childish things to keep him amused. After building the small boat, he plopped it in the river next to the bridge, and then watched it bob around in the water, duck under the bridge, and land at the rocks on the other side. The boy ran to it, climbing down to the rocky banks and bent down to pick it up.

And that's where he saw her. Bloated, pale as curdled milk, with only small tendries of yellow hair wisping around in the icy cold water. Sigurd had never seen a dead body, and he never imagined that his first would be a child. The image of his poor niece was going to haunt him for the rest of his life. Her cloudy lifeless eyes, her translucent skin, the dirt and weeds and maggots all over her. How long had she been there? Did anyone know she was missing? Did she fall, or was she killed? Did she die instantly, or did she suffer? How did no one notice?

He forgot his boat in the river and jogged back to the longhouse, where he found his mother and Ivar at the table in the queen's quarters playing tafl. There was nothing in this scene that was out of the ordinary from the last two weeks. Mother was drunk from wine, and Ivar was growing frustrated with the lack of stimulating company and challenge in his tafl partner.

"Your move," Ivar demanded with a frown.

Aslaug looked at him briefly through her lashes before sinking her gaze back into the depths of her goblet. "I do not want to play," she slurred.

"Your. Move."

Sigurd walked around the table, fingers fidgeting in his sleeves, wondering how he was going to tell his mother that Bjorn's daughter was dead. He sat on the chair and watched his mother roll her eyes and straighten herself in the chair as if it were some great effort. She half-heartedly made her move on the board before taking her cup and slumping back into her chair.

Ivar made quick work of defeating Aslaug's queen, "That was stupid of you. You lose."

Aslaug held her cup in two hands as she sternly looked at Ivar over the rim, "Don't call me stupid."

"Why not?"

With a slow liquid blink, Aslaug answered with a less than caring smile. "Because I am the only reason you're still alive."

Sigurd had never known Aslaug to be at all cruel to any of her sons, especially not Ivar. That sentence visibly left a scar in Ivar that even Sigurd could see from where he sat. This confirmed to him that his mother had lost all the love in her heart; she was now a cruel shell of a woman, trying to fill her heart shaped cup with wine, never realizing there was no bottom to that cup, just a hole.

Sigurd stood up from his chair and walked over to his mother, "Siggy's dead."

"Who?"

He pursed his lips and clenched his fist. The image of the little girl came back to his mind. Even with the tightness in his chest, Sigurd refused to cry or show emotion, especially not around her and Ivar. They would mock him.

"I found her body in the river."

"Oh her..." Aslaug drifted off into her cup again before returning her eyes to Sigurd. "I thought... I thought someone was taking care of her?"

_You were supposed to be taking care of her,_ Sigurd wanted to say.

"No. Obviously not."

Aslaug did not say anything. She didn't even look like she cared.

Ivar scoffed and muttered "Who cares?", and that was when Sigurd left the room. First he walked; walked through the city and then across the docks and then the beach until he found Floki's house. Sinking to his knees next to the banks of water, he began to sob. He cried for Siggy; he cried for Hulda and Kára; he cried for his mother's lost soul; and he cried for his father, wishing for him to return. He was alone there... He did not feel welcome or motherly warmth, or family. He was completely alone.

**— — —**

It was late one night when Hulda was roused from her slumber. Blinking in the darkness, she looked about the cabin and found nothing out of the ordinary. Next to her was her daughter, soundly slumbering. Other than the wind against the logs of the house, there was no other noise. The hearth had downed down to glowing embers, which was the only source of light. Hulda pulled herself from the cot and sat at it's edge, still looking about the room. Something woke her up, but she could not quite make what that was. She knew she dreamt of something unsettling, but like the days her daughter went missing, the gods had clouded her third eye from seeing beyond what was in front of her.

The Red Woman stared at the door of the house, and then felt a rather dull and gradual drumming in her chest. As her body tensed and slowly rose to her feet, that drumming became louder and faster, and she knew that something was on its way. Hulda quickly lit a stone lamp nearby, and took it with her as she walked silently towards the door. Without making any noise, she opened it and slipped outside. There was movement everywhere from the winds that blew a storm in her direction. The cold it brought nipped at her skin, but she stepped further into the darkness with a light robe to protect her from the chill. The flame on her lamp whipped around wildly, threatened to blow out.

Hulda looked into all directions, expecting to see a danger lurking nearby, though saw nothing but branches and leaves being tossed around by the wind. Until, that was, when she spotted a man leaning against a tree. A broken man. He had a swollen brow and cheek, and was clothed in battle mail and leathers. He looked half awake, half dead, and all defeated. Hulda walked to him with long strides, and brought the flame to his face. The warm glow reflected against the sweat and the hollowness of his dimmed blue eyes.

"Ragnar?"

The moment she spoke his name, Ragnar's eyes pulled to the back of his skull and his body crashed onto the ground at Hulda's feet.

* * *

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fair warning, the next few chapters will not have Ivar in it
> 
> It will focus mostly on Kara, Hulda, and especially Ragnar. This is not filler; it's imperative to character development and to explain what happened in the 5* (I have shorted the years in the time lapse for story purposes) years that Ragnar was missing. I will be constantly time skipping and only lingering on significant moments, and I won't be making them super long chapters either. I know how frustrating it is for those sort of chapters to take up so much of the story. But it needs to be written and read. After Chapter 16/17, it will be caught up with the show and take place just before Ragnar's return to Kattegat.


	14. 13: the two kings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kara and Hulda do their best to helps Ragnar through severe withdrawals. 
> 
> tw for recovering addicts, as it details the struggles of withdrawals and what can happen during a detox of opiate abuse.

  
  


The night that Ragnar Lothbrok returned to Kattegat had been monumental for different reasons for different people. For the night that the ships returned into Kattegat, Ragnar had lumbered off of the dock and disappeared into the woods. Many, like Lagertha, Bjorn, and even King Herald had all presumed he would return at some given point. It was no doubt that what happened in Paris broke him. However, the people of Kattegat would end up gradually learning how to live without a king. Weeks and then months had gone by and there was no sign of King Ragnar.

Bjorn had disappeared into the woods for a time, out of anger over his father abandoning not only his people, but his family. Eventually his anger subsided as he laminated on his father, and realized his greatest faults, his weaknesses, and above all the mistakes he made. For the younger sons of Ragnar, the resentment for their father was far more than Bjorn; they were young and their last impression of him was not at all favourable. Bjorn understood their hearts and pitied them. They hadn't known Ragnar for as long as he, and had never known him less than a king. They did not know him as a farmer, a viking, a visionary, or as a father.

The others, namely Aslaug and Lagertha, were not so angry at Ragnar's abandonment. Aslaug was bitter, but grew indifferent; her love for Ragnar had long been gone and her only resentment she held against him was leaving her with the responsibility of being Queen, and raising his sons alone. Lagertha, however, understood more than anyone why he had left. When she saw him in Paris, she did not see the Ragnar she knew, nor the one she once loved. Wherever he went, she knew he left to find whatever fragment of his old self there once was. Instead, Lagertha took this as an opportunity... an opportunity for a new beginning of Kattegat. She merely had to wait for the perfect moment to do so.

Then there was Floki, who was the last man to watch Ragnar flee into the forest never to be seen again. He alone knew where he went, but had not told a soul, nor went to see him, himself. He was in the gods' hands now, and it was for the best. One day, he knew, Ragnar would return to Kattegat, and when he did, the world would change once again. For better or worse, well, that was up to the All Father.

The return of Ragnar Lothbrok had affected two others far more than the rest, for he became a permanent guest in their home during that winter. When the broken king fell into the clearing of Hulda's home, she knew that life would no longer be the same; a storm was coming that would last more than a night. It would last for many moons.

Ragnar had indulged in a foreign plant more than any man rightfully should, all thanks to the manipulations of that slave girl who was no longer with them. Now the plant possessed him, to a point where his mind and body could not function without it. His mind, heart, body, and soul craved it so intensely, that it was willing to kill him for it.

Kára had seen many sick people come to see her mother, but she had never seen a man as sick as this once great warrior. Ragnar seemed to have a fever like no other, his body trembled and glistened with sweat, but he was cold, even under furs by the fire. It seemed like every orifice of his leaked with something. His nose was runny; his ears oozed with loose wax; his beard became filthy from vomit, and his bowels -- that was the worst part. Hulda had incense and herbs burning constantly, but the scent of defecation lingered for some days. Kára, much to her discomfort, helped her mother with taking care of Ragnar, particularly with bathing him, feeding him, and ensuring that he remained in bed. Hulda insisted that he had to sweat out the demon from his body, but it wont leave easily.

Kára learned that the hard way. One sunny, wintery afternoon, Kára was left alone with Ragnar while her mother was washing the sullied rags in the basin outside, dousing them with herbs to flush out the smell. At this point, Ragnar was more conscious than he was before. He spoke words, while few, but his eyes were open -- red, and puffy, but open -- and he looked around with some awareness of where he was. Before this point, it was difficult to feed the man; he would either refuse out of nausea or he would vomit it out later anyways. Now, it seemed better, he stomached the porridge without complaint as Kára spooned it into his mouth.

The room was silent as Kára fed him, moving the spoon under his lip to pick up the bits that didn't make it to his mouth. Ragnar looked at her with blurry eyes, trying to process who she was, and if he knew her. In his mind, faces and names came to him, ones he should know, but the memory seemed to be so far away. Aslaug. Lagertha. Siggy. Gyda. Thora. Sigrún.

"K-Kára,"

The croak-like sound startled the redhead, causing her spoon to fall from her fingers and into the wooden bowl. She looked up at him with wide eyes, wondering if the sound came from him. Ragnar blinked slowly and breathed deeply through his nose before sucking back his lip to lick the porridge residue on it.

"Yes...?" She asked tentatively.

"I...know you," his eyes rolled around in his lids, as if he was dreaming, but eventually he opened them again. Those blue blood-shot orbs looked around the room to see if he recognized this place too. Yes, he has been here before, this was Hulda's house in the woods. How did he get here from Paris?

_Paris._

Images of battle flooded in his mind in an instant. Visions of boats sailing on land; of a betrayer who called himself brother; of a life that was not lived; of a woman killed by her lover; of a former life and a dream lost. His body ached from the memories, which now felt so fresh it was as if it happened yesterday. Though, in reality, it had been weeks since those events had come to pass.

Ragnar gave a great groan and found some strength to pull his arm from under the furs and rub his sweaty face with it. His body was in the most pain he ever felt. It needed to be relieved of it, neigh, _craved_ the release of its pain. It was everywhere. His bones, his muscles, his stomach, his heart, his mind.

"Girl..." he croaked again, eyes fluttering and chest breathing hard. "Give me something for the pain."

Kára was taken aback by this sudden display of life; a complete contrast from having to experience over a week of him barely alive and his body merely a sack of fluids. She put down the porridge and looked about her to find something to ease his pain, but the only thing she knew would help was poppy milk. Poppy milk, the reliever of pain, but also a poison that could spiral Ragnar back into his previous state. Kára was under strict orders not to give Ragnar anything from the poppy plant, no matter how badly he pleaded, screamed or cried.

Immediately, Kára picked up the food again, and took a big spoon full, "Here, eat. You will feel better when you do."

Ragnar grumbled, his fist clenching and his lips curled in as he sank back into the pillow with his eyes closed. He shook his head, "No. No more. I'm in too much pain." His eyes fluttered open, and those blue irises were on Kára like a sad child. "Doesn't your mother have something for this pain? That white stuff... Milk of..."

"Ragnar, I can't give you that,"

"Why...why not?" He began to breathe harder, as Yidu's face plunging underwater flashed before him.

"I just can't,"

Ragnar's lip curled into a snarl. With his free hand he reached and grabbed the girl's wrist in a strength neither knew was capable of. Kára yelped, and jerked her hand, the spoon falling as she did. She tried to pull away, but he had her in a vice.

"Give. It. To. _Me_."

"Let go of me!" She tugged furiously, but his grip tightened. She felt his nails dig into her skin.

"Yidu, I know you have more!! Give me the medicine!" Ragnar tugged harder on her arm, pulling her close to his face.

Kára pleaded and yelled at him, insisting that her name was Kára, not Yidu. Though her words were unheard, or ignored, because Ragnar lifted himself up a fraction from the cot of furs to meet her face halfway. Kára was nose to nose with the broken king, blue and red eyes bulging and staring wildly into hers. His lips were curled as he growled into her face, and all the while Kára struggled against his grip and stare.

Ragnar was seeing everything but the reality around him. He saw Yidu; he saw his disloyal wife; he saw his people's lifeless bodies on the grassy meadows of England; he saw the faces in the fire of his failed siege of Paris; he saw Rollo standing with enemy colours; he saw his own face, coated in dirt, teeth and gums coated in blood, and eyes wide and bulging. Then in a blink, he saw _her_ face. War painted and smeared with dirt, blood trickling from her forehead, light fading from her eyes as her lips spoke: _Save her._

"Ragnar!!"

And just like that, Ragnar's world struck like a lightning bolt when the flat end of a pot collided with his head, sending him flying back into his furs and knocked him unconscious.

Once free, Kára pulled herself away from Ragnar with her bruised wrist to her chest. She breathed heavily with tears in her eyes as she looked up her mother, who held the cast iron pot at her side like a weapon. Hulda blew away a stand of hair away from her nose and looked from Ragnar to her daughter, and back again.

"He-he....He called me Yidu," Kára breathed, wiping the dampness off her face.

Hulda nodded and walked over to a chair and sat on it, "The demon has not left him. There is still work to be done."

That moment wasn't not an isolated one, particularly that week when Ragnar had regained consciousness. He would start off as weak and pathetic and turn into an angry, vengeful man quite fast when denied any form of pain relief. Though slowly, those episodes became few and far inbetween.

When the ice began to thaw and Winter was coming to its swan song, things at Hulda's house started to get quiet. Kára and Hulda were outside, enjoying the first signs of spring by chopping wood and hanging out clothes to dry. Kára was enjoying the sounds of birds, having missed them these past few months. She whistled alongside them as she raised her woodcutter's axe and split the logs in halves, while her mother hummed behind her. Suddenly the sound of the wooden door swung open, and the two women looked up to see Ragnar leaning against a walking stick, shoulders covered in a thick sheep's fur. He was still pale and gaunt, but his eyes were no longer beet red.

"Ragnar," Hulda pulled herself from the line of clothes and walked over to his side. "You need to lay down--"

He shrugged her off, "I'm fine. I need air."

Kára watched as he hobbled over to a chair sitting against the side of the house and collapsed in it. With a heavy sigh, he leaned back his head against the wall and blinked against the sunlight. The two girls could do nothing but look at him and then each other, until he finally took notice of them both.

"Do I have something on my face?"

"Yes, but I think it's just your beard," Kára answered.

Ragnar grinned, his straight teeth flashing behind the straggly mess of his beard. He reached up and ran his fingers down it, wincing at the knots and the debri caught in it. "Perhaps it's time for a shave and a bath."

Hulda began to walk over to the house, "I will boil some water--"

"No," Ragnar raised his hand to stop her. "I need to do this myself."

Kára looked at him skeptically, but her mother didn't insist on helping him. Instead she took out her comb and grooming tools, and handed it to him. Ragnar gave her a nod of thanks, and started to stand up by putting all his weight on his cane.

Just as he was about to hobble out of the clearing, Kára shouted his name and ran over to him. Ragnar looked at her over his shoulder, patiently watching her taking something off her belt and handing it to him. It was the same little dagger she had threatened him with last spring.

"It's sharper than before."

Ragnar smiled as he took the dagger and then gave her a small nod. He turned back around and began his slow and long trek to the river. Kára and Hulda watched him slowly leave the clearing and disappear in the forest, and once he was just out of sight, the two looked at each other in concern.

"Should we follow him?" Kára asked.

Hulda shook her head and placed a hand on her daughter's shoulder, "No. This is something he needs to do alone."

**— — —**

It may be the early days of spring, but the river water was cold as winter. Dirty snow collected at the edge of the thawed out water, slowly disappearing with every warm day. Ragnar's hands shook as he plunged his palms into the water and brought it to his face, drenching his beard and brow. The shock of the cold made him gasp out loud, not realizing how hot he felt until true cold met his skin. It was enough for him to crumble back to Hulda's cottage, but he remained. He continued to cup water and bring it to his face over and over again, his thin body bent over the riverbed, completely exposed to the elements.

Ragnar bit through the bite of the water as he plunged his head in. He pulled out with a desperate gasp, ran his trembling hands over his face and then looked up across the slow moving river. Droplets of water collected in his eyelashes, so he just barely saw the three figures on the other side. Blinking away the dew, he now saw a family of deer; a fawn, a doe, and a stag. The mother and child both bent down to the river and drank, while the father eyed the human warily. Ragnar noted that the stag had grown back his antlers and was now shedding its velvet casing. Tendrils of velvet and blood fell from the proud animal's antlers, showing the card crown underneath. Both kings lock eyes for a long moment until the animal took a step forward, and bowed his head next to his fawn and joined his family to drink.

The viking watched in silence and stillness as the woodland family finished and retreated back into the forest, with the stag lingering for a moment to give one last look at Ragnar. He suddenly shook his large head vigorously, flinging off bits of bloody velvet from his fully grown antlers, and turned to join his family.

Ragnar looked down into the water and saw his reflection for the first time, and couldn't recognize himself. He was shallow-cheeked, pale, puffy-eyed, and his hair had grown out scraggly and muddy in colour. His hand reached out and touched his gaunt face, and saw his fingers were thin and knobby at the knuckles. The same hand that wielded an axe proudly over his shoulder, the same knuckles red with blood from his victims. He was viking no more; he was an old man who was ready to die.

Taking the dagger he was given, Ragnar pulled it to eye level, seeing the reflection of his blue eye in the foggy steel. He then flickered his gaze over to the bloody shreds of velvet felt left behind by the stag. Gripping the knife and his teeth, Ragnar straightened his back and pulled the knife to his scalp, where he began to cut off the dreads of his knotted tendrils until it was short enough to shave down to the skin. Blood began to trickle down his forehead and collected in the hairs of his brow, but he continued until the tattoos beneath the hair were visible, and the crown of his skull gleamed like the twinkling ripples of the river.

* * *

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was always curious as to how Ragnar was able to battle withdrawals alone. It's not exactly easy, and he could have easily died if he didn't have help. I had to look a up a bit of things about withdrawals from extreme opioid use, and I hope I made it as close to reality as possible. Hulda refers to addiction as a demon from the plant that Yidu was feeding them, since throughout history mental illness was always been explained that demons were possessing the human body. Which is why, even today, super religious folk confuse illnesses like Schizophrenia to demonic possession. By I digress. Starting next chapter, there will be time skips, and within three chapters (including 14), Kara will be fully grown and it will pick up sometime before season 4 part b.


	15. 14: the witching hour

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As Ragnar regains his strength, he grows a strong bond with Kara and Hulda. A spark has been rekindled with the two past lovers. However, Hulda struggles with painful visions and nightmares that she cannot control.

  
  


Spring had given them rainfall after rainfall, and once summer had arrived, the wood was lush with deep greens. The first weeks of summer were humid, but it was a blessing from the constant rain they had endured. Hulda was in her garden, taking out weeds from her crops while Ragnar sat with Kára fletching arrows so they could hunt the following morning.

Ragnar's figure had regained weight after he came to. His face was still a little gaunt, but he no longer looked emasculated. Once it became easier for him to stand, Ragnar was quick to make him useful at the house. He helped with gardening, gathering, and caught rabbits with Kára. Then he moved onto more strenuous acts such as wood-chopping, and repairing the damages the house endured over winter.

Hulda glanced over to the two working, overhearing the conversation the two were having.

"You are terrible at this," Kára commented on Ragnar's uneven fletching.

"I am not a fletcher," he replied patiently.

"You won't be a hunter either if that is your attitude,"

Ragnar slowly looked at her and then glanced at Hulda who just gave a silent laugh and looked back at her vegetables.

"I have a good eye; I am not worried about my abilities as a hunter," he finally replied.

"It doesn't matter how good your eye is; if your fletching is uneven, it will not land where you aimed it," Kára said matter-of-factly.

Ragnar paused again and looked at her with half amused eyes, "And who taught you how to hunt? How do you know all of this?"

Kára paused as she blinked at her fingers; Ragnar could see the thoughts moving around in her eyes as she failed to give an answer. Truthfully, she didn't know _how_ she knew. Much like talking or walking, she could not recall who taught her how to hunt, but unlike talking and walking, it was definitely not her mother. She could feel both Ragnar and her mother's eyes on her, so she resumed her fletching and said the first thing that popped into her head.

"Skaði."

"Skaði?" Ragnar repeated with skepticism. His eyes were lit with mirth at the answer, but he indulged it. "You were taught how to hunt by the goddess of bowhunting herself?"

Kára straightened up and huffed, and waved around the small fletching knife impatiently, "Yes, and that is why you should listen to me."

Ragnar gave one long hard look before giving an amused snort and shaking his head, "Were you this hard to Ivar when you taught him?"

An uneasy silence befall the area. Ragnar was told vaguely of the events that happened last autumn, though he was oblivious to the sensitivities of young women. He saw Kára's muscles tense and her fingers hesitate a moment before shaving off the rest of the feather into a sharp point. Her lips pursed before she talked.

"Don't be afraid of cutting your thumb with the knife," She said in a small voice. "Avoiding the inevidentable is the reason why your edges aren't straight."

Ragnar furrowed his brow and then looked over to Hulda who was sitting on her knees, looking over at them. Hulda locked eyes with him and shook her head, indicating that it is not a good idea to mention Ivar. After a moment of silence, Hulda called out to Ragnar to help her pull out a stubborn root. With hesitation and a glance over to Kára, Ragnar stood up with a grunt and went over to the woman, and crouched down to his knees.

"She is still upset over what happened," Hulda whispered as the two bent over the garden. "She cared for him, you know. It is like a piece of her has been cut off."

"It is my fault," Ragnar commented as he dug his hands into the dirt and gripped the roots of the stubborn turnip. "I should have been there."

"It is not your fault, Ragnar. It is Aslaug's."

"I lost her love," he stated with gritted teeth as he pulled on the vegetable. "And showed no care that I had. It is what drove her into the arms of Harbard, and led her to where she is."

"No," Hulda insisted, watching Ragnar's profile. "Aslaug was always like this. Jealous, irrational, and selfish. I grew up with her and saw everything be given to her with ease and no effort. Not only is she beautiful, but her father and mother are famous. The moment she does not get what she wants, she turns into the very serpent her father defeated." When Ragnar said nothing, Hulda continued. "You did not lose her love; she lost yours and she cannot stand that."

"I have never loved her," Ragnar finally said as he tugged again at the roots, feeling a snap and tear from under the soft earth. "I loved the idea of her."

"She used that to her advantage," Hulda added. "She knew that you were destined for greatness, and knew she could give you the sons you were destined for."

"Perhaps it was not her that I was destined to have sons with," he wretched the turnip out of the ground and tossed it into the basket with the others.

"Do you regret allowing Lagertha to leave?"

Ragnar caught her gaze, "There are a lot of things I regret, Thora."

**— — —**

Hulda tossed and turned in her cot with furs tangled between her legs. The humidity reached inside the house, making the air thick and warm. She could feel beads of sweat trickling down her neck and down her spine. Tossing around again, Hulda settled on her back and sighed heavily through her nose.

A few minutes passed as she relaxed into the silence, but that was interrupted with an odd feeling of the tangled furs restricting around her legs. She tried to wiggle them free, but the grip tightened. Hulda felt slight movement on her back that gradually escalated to many sensations running down her body. The feeling of something coiling underneath her, moving like boneless limbs. That is when she heard the hissing in her ear and her eyes shot open. She was not staring up at her own ceiling, but a window of light. The end of a tunnel -- no, a pit, where the faces of soldiers looked down upon her with disgusted satisfaction. There was a man with a crown, a small smirk on his face, and another man with a hood over his head. It was the latter who smiled kindly down her, watching the snakes bury her alive. All Hulda could hear was the chorus of hissing, and felt nothing but the sting of teeth sinking into her flesh over and over again. Suddenly, her world became heavy and her breathing began to slow down as the world around her blurred. Her body stiffened and sunk into the pit of vipers that would become her grave.

Hulda woke up in violent coughs. Her hands rose rapidly to her neck as she greedily sucked in air. She felt her face grow hot as she continued to cough and choke on nothing. Her heart raced like a stampede of horses, but that slowly died down as she found herself back in her cot. Her daughter slept soundlessly next to her when she looked over, and then on the floor, Ragnar was just as passed out on his pile of hides on the ground. Her eyes lingered on his face, which was partially lit up by the light of the moon that peaked in through the open window. Hulda placed a hand on her chest as she slowly sunk back into her cot, no longer able to sleep.

**— — —**

When Ragnar woke that morning, it was to the sound of a knife chopping against wood. He blinked a few times and then peered with one eye at the small window. Looking over to the cot, he only saw the small form of Kára softly snoring. Ragnar got up, and walked out of the house rubbing his eyes, only to see Hulda outside chopping vegetables. When she heard the door open, she looked up from the table and sighed.

"Sorry, did I wake you?"

Ragnar ignored her question to ask his own, "What are you doing?" He eyed the pile of chopped vegetables.

"I am preparing supper,"

"The sun just rose, Hulda."

"I made breakfast already. There's a pot of porridge inside, if you're hungry," She pushed aside her chopped potato with the flat of her knife into the large pile. "We are going to need some fish for the stew today. You take Kára over to the lake and--"

"Hulda," he grabbed the woman's arm before she could chop another vegetable. "What is wrong?"

Hulda ran her teeth over her bottom lip as she avoided his eyes. Wiping her forehead with the back of her hand, she replied, "I had a nightmare, is all. Been up for... a while, I suppose."

Ragnar took her gently by the hand and guided her over to two stools and sat down. The anxious look in her eyes concerned him; a nightmare to a völva is never that simple. He tried to catch her eye, but she avoided him by looking down at their hands.

"Thora," he spoke her birth name, "You can speak to me. I understand it was no mere nightmare... What did you see?"

She opened her mouth and took a shaky breath, "I was... I was in a pit of snakes. They coiled around every inch of my body, biting my neck and hands and legs, filling my veins with their venom. A crowd of men were watching me from above. I didn't recognize them, but they were pleased by what they saw." She rested her head on her palm and furrowed her brow into it. "I could still feel the weight of snakes on me."

Ragnar listened to her intently and when she finished he squinted his eyes in thought, "What do you think it means?"

Hulda hesitated before turning to Ragnar, "I think I saw someone's death."

"Who's death?"

She bit her lip and shook her head and stood up, wiping her hands on her apron, "I don't know. I don't always understand what the gods are trying to tell me." She walked over to the table and shoveled the chopped vegetables in a bowl. Suddenly, she felt Ragnar's body heat behind her, and his hands gently placed on her shoulders. Hulda froze at the warm touch of the pad of his thumb rubbing her through the fabric of her sleeve.

"It is best not to dwell on it if you do not know what it means to you," Ragnar assured her. "You don't need to carry the fate of the world on your shoulders, Hulda."

The woman smiled painfully down at the food on the table, then reached out and gently placed her hand upon Ragnar's. "Thank you, Ragnar, but I've grown used to the uninvited visions of the fates of those I've crossed paths with. Everyone, except for Kára."

Ragnar tilted his chin a bit and peered at her from behind questioningly, "What do you mean?"

Hulda sighed and gave a light shrug, "When it comes to my own daughter, it is like peering into a blizzard. The winds push around images in incoherence. It is as if Freya cannot decide what Kára's fate is." She patted Ragnar's hand on her shoulder and continued, "Speaking of, you should wake her up, and break your fast. Then the two of you can prepare to go fishing."

After a beat, Ragnar silently nodded and slipped his hands off of Hulda's delicate shoulders and retreated back into the house with a head full of questions. He walked over to the cot and peered over the young girl, then gently parted her hair away from her face. Kára was peacefully sleeping, almost appearing like a child. Ragnar missed having a daughter-- he hadn't thought about Gyda in some time, mainly because it was far too painful to think about her. However, with this girl now primarily present in his life, the memories of Gyda kept on coming back, and nostalgia sunk its teeth into his heart.

Ragnar looked away and took a stray pillow off the cot and looked back at the girl. Then he whipped her on the head with it several times, until she woke up yelling obscenities at him.

**— — —**

It was well past midsommar and the days were starting to get shorter, but the weather was still warm and the skies were clear. Ragnar enjoyed those summer nights, which he hadn't had time to enjoy whilst he was King. His most favourable memories were he was just a mere farmer, where he and Lagertha would lay in the grass with an infant Bjorn and stared at the stars and northern lights. He'd lay quietly beside Lagertha as she pointed at the stars and told tales to Bjorn about the gods.

While Hulda and Kára were asleep inside, Ragnar crept outside to lay on the grass roof of the house to look up at the stars and the lights that night. He chewed on a piece of grass, and peacefully enjoyed the dancing ribbons of light in the sky. Ragnar must have lost track of time, because he then just realized the position of the moon. It was three past midnight, which meant dawn was only in a few hours.

He heard the door move before he made a move himself to get off the roof. Ragnar peered over the edge and saw a cloaked figure in the darkness walk out of the house in silence, with the door left wide open. Ragnar furrowed his brow as he wondered what was going on.

"Hulda?" He called out, but he got no response. The Witch continued to walk until she left the clearing and entered the forest. Ragnar crawled off the grass roof and called out her name again, but like before, he got no response. The viking followed closely behind her, every once in a while calling her name and asking what she was doing, but never getting an answer. After a few moments of doing so, he suspected something was wrong. Was she sleep walking?

He continued to follow her through the forest, staying under 20 paces behind her. For a sleepwalker, she navigated the forest as if she was awake using the aid of a lamp. Ragnar had to rely on the moon and auroras to keep her within his sights.

Ragnar had followed Hulda for quite some time; the moon crept across the sky and the auroras began to fade. He attempted to call Hulda again, but like many times before, got no response. The trees began to thin out to show the lake and a silhouette of a small abandoned fishing cabin. Hulda walked past the cabin as if it wasn't there, then began walking straight into the shallows of the lake.

That was when Ragnar began to speed up his pace to catch up with her. He hopped over a fallen log and trudged through the muddy earth, looking up at Hulda just when the water reached her hips.

"Hulda!" He shouted, "Hulda, wake up!"

Ragnar reached the water and started to wad through it as fast as he could. The force of the waves kept on pushing him back, but somehow pulled Hulda farther in. By the time Ragnar was able tread water, Hulda was already shoulder deep.

"Hulda! Hulda!!" He shouted louder, "What are you doing?!"

Suddenly she stopped swimming and the lake was completely still, the only sound was Ragnar's splashing as he moved through the water to get to her. When he noticed that she stopped moving, he did too, expecting her to turn around dazed and confused. Instead, in the silence he could just barely hear her speak three words:

"I don't know."

There was no time to interpret her words, because as soon as it was spoken, Hulda was pulled under the surface of the water. It was as if someone had grabbed her foot and yanked her underneath. It happened so fast that it took Ragnar a second too long for him to react.

"THORA!" The viking shouted so loudly it echoed in the mountains.

He dove into the water, and swam faster than he ever had towards Hulda's sinking form. Her robes flourished around her in a great black mass, successfully camouflaging her body in the dark water. If it hadn't been for the vividness of her red hair, Ragnar would not have seen her. When he reached the woman, he wrapped his arms around her waist and attempted to swim back up, but her robes weighed them both down. In desperation of oxygen, Ragnar quickly pulled off the heavy fabric from her body and snaked her nude form out of it and up to the surface.

He dragged her limp body towards the shore until he slumped in the mud next to her. The man took no second to collect himself; he immediately began tapping her face and calling her name over and over. Her lips were parted and turning blue, and that made Ragnar panic. He plugged her nose with his hand and brought his lips to hers and started to breathe into her. He pulled away and pumped her chest eight times before repeating the process again. After the second try, Hulda began to cough up water.

Ragnar helped her up on her elbows and rubbed her back as she continued to cough. Her eyes finally opened and her coughs started to break up. When she began to focus on the world around her, her expression changed to one of frightened confusion.

"Where am I?" Hulda looked around, and then noticed her bare body which she immediately covered.

Seeing this, Ragnar pulled off his tunic and rang out of the water, "You were sleepwalking."

Hulda looked up at him as he gave her his tunic, which she gratefully took and pulled over her body. It was still wet and heavily dirty with mud, but so was her nude body. She had a pained look on her face as she pulled her dirty hair over her shoulder. Hulda looked around to see where she ended up and caught sight of the fishing cabin. The blood drained from her face.

"This is where I met Ulf," she pulled her knees to her chin.

Ragnar looked over at the structure that was now just a skeleton. He kneeled down next to Hula and placed a hand on the back of her neck comfortingly. Hulda slowly leaned into him and rested her heavy head on his shoulder. Ragnar wrapped his arm around her and held her close, as they both looked out at the still lake. After a beat of silence, he finally spoke, but only above a whisper.

"What was your dream?"

It took a moment before she spoke. Her throat was sore from the coughing and the water purging from her throat. "I saw how he died," her voice was soft. She didn't need to say his name; Ragnar knew who she meant. "He died here, too."

"You do not need to speak about it."

"He was talking to someone," She continued as if he hadn't said anything. Hulda squinted at the lake trying to recall if she saw someone, but all she witnessed were the blistering white winds biting her skin and eyes. "But no one was there."

"What did he say?"

"He...He just said the words 'I don't know'," Ragnar looked down at her, but remained quiet. "And then I was in the cold water, and the white of the snow began to blacken as I sank deeper."

Ragnar remained quiet, but started to stroke her hair. The blue sky began to lighten over the mountains as dawn approached. He was in no hurry to leave if she wished to remain, but he knew in a few hours Kára would awaken and find the house empty.

"There is something wrong with me," Hulda said quietly, her eyes glazed as she watched the sun turn the navy sky into shades of pink and orange. "These dreams are becoming more frequent."

"The Seer may have answers," Ragnar replied.

"I am not allowed in Kattegat," she reminded him, then sighed and lifted her head from his shoulder. Hulda closed her eyes briefly as the light peeked over the mountains and began to make the lake glitter pink. "We should clean ourselves before returning home. I don't want my daughter to know what happened."

The two carefully ascended from the ground and walked back home, where the lake narrows into the river. Ragnar held onto Hulda as they navigated through the forest in silence. By the time they reached the river spot where Hulda normally bathes, dawn lightened the sky in brilliant oranges and pinks. The water shined and gently lapped underneath a flat rock overhanging the river. Hulda untangled herself from Ragnar's arms and walked over to the rock's edge, and then pulled the muddy tunic over her head. Ragnar watched in silence and awe as the light of the sun made her very aura glow. He could see even the smallest hairs on her soft skin against the morning glow. Then there was her long hair, that despite the mud, caught fire under the sun. Even after all these years, Hulda was still unworldly beautiful.

Hulda extended her arms above her head and dove into the water. Ragnar watched in admiration as her pale body split through the water like a graceful swan. He then started to undress his breaches and laid them with his tunic, and dove in after her. The viking met her under the water, where they stared at each other as if for the first time. Ragnar's blue eyes glowed like sapphires through the water, and Hulda's hair was like a flickering flame of red fire. Her slender hand reached out and touched his cheek and his large one reached out and took the back of her neck. Together they pulled their bodies closer into an intimate embrace, and their lips touched as they once did many years ago.

**— — —**

The house was nice and toasty with the fire roaring and the mounds of furs that Kára was buried under. With the harvest completed, the weather chilled twice more in a matter of days. Nights had begun to grow longer, resorting to the three of them spending longer time in the safety of the house telling stories of the gods and of the past. That night, Ragnar was retelling the story of how he defeated King Froh and saved her mother.

"It seems so long ago," Hulda said fondly. "You were so young then; barely had any whiskers on that chin."

Ragnar squared his shoulders and immediately began to stroke his long beard, "Less scars too."

Hulda giggled and pinched Ragnar's cheeks together. Kára looked at this closely. For a few moons now, Ragnar and Hulda's relationship had become closer and more intimate. They always had eyes on each other, and Kára was aware that Ragnar seemed to be smiling more when he was around her mother. Initially, Kára was a bit caught off guard with how familiar they were with each other, but remembered that they were once romantic once upon a time. After some time, she grew used to the idea that the two adults were picking up where they left off, and Kára didn't mind... It was almost as if... They were a family.

"So, let me get this straight," She brought their attention back to the story. "You are telling me that you got your name because of your trousers?"

Ragnar nodded, "Very thick trousers, yes."

"So," Kára steeped her fingers together and stood up straight in the cot with a serious look on her face. "You are... Ragnar Shaggy-trousers, King of the Cat's Asshole?"

A pillow came whipping through the air and smacked the girl on the side of the head.

"It is about time you go to sleep, Greenfoot," Ragnar said through his teeth and proceeded to smack her again as she laughed and attempted to fight back the assault. "Before your cheek runs away with your tongue."

"It is time for all of us to sleep," Hulda stood up, collecting the empty pitcher of warm mead and placing it on the kitchen table. "It is nearly midnight, and you two need to set traps for game after you break your fast tomorrow."

After a few jabs between Ragnar and Kára with the pillows, the two complied and began readying themselves for bed. Ragnar had been upgraded to a shared cot with Hulda only a few weeks ago when the weather started to chill. And with Kára growing rapidly over the months, he constructed her own cot. There were a couple of nights when the three of them shared the bed to keep warm, but that resulted in Kára endlessly kicking Ragnar's back until he flopped on the floor.

After washing her face in the basin, Kára crawled into her small cot and curled under the furs and watched as her mother and Ragnar did the same. Smiling to herself, she pulled the fur up to her shoulder and rested her head and said, "Sleep well, Shaggy-Trousers."

**— — —**

_The air was hot and sticky; it smelled like blood and sweat. A battlefield filled with bodies boiling under the blistering sun. Ragnar could feel his skin blister under the weight of his chainmail and boiled leather armour. The only way you could see through the blood and sweat that dripped into your eyes, and the only way to ignore the sun burning you alive was to go berserk. It was the only way to cope with the situation, and Ragnar, young and hot-headed, allowed his mind to dissociate into rage and bloodlust._

_Men and women were cut down in swift movements of his axe and sword all around him. All he could hear was the sound of blood pumping in his head and his growls and shouts of that of a mad bear. His axe swung across the jugular of a man and a spray of blood splattered across his face. He stood with his arms extended with both weapons at hand, shouting to the gods in ferocity. Like a rabid animal he whipped around to spot his next prey. There were no colours in his world, just black and white and skeletons tangled in the dance of war._

_In the sea of grey he spotted a flame of colour. She was colloured in red, from her head to her toe. Another predator in a sea of sheep. Ragnar locked eyes with her across the field; her hair was a mess around her shoulders, her eyes coated in the blood of her enemies, and in her hands she held a broken spear and a dagger in the other. She bared her teeth at him and clenched her fist around the hilts of her weapons and began to run at him like a one-woman pack of wolves. Ragnar mimicked her movements and came charging at her too._

_When they met on the battlefield it was nothing but a flurry of steel and hair whipping around as they danced around their attacks. Dagger and sword discarded in preference to their clashing axe and spear. When her spear slashed across his lip, he swung through the air to catch her brow. In the chaos of their movements, Ragnar's leg extended and kicked her clean under her feet, knocking her down and cracking her head onto a rock behind her. He stepped over her, holding the axe above her head and looked her in her eyes. Her eyes...wide and frightened, and blue-green like a warm spring. Her hand extended out to stop him and her mouth moved in pleads for not her life... but of another. Suddenly Ragnar began to feel the heat of the sun, and see colour come to life around him. He could hear a voice, that of a child all around him, calling out "MOTHER NO!" It got louder and louder until it felt like it was right next to his ear._

_"MOTHER!!!"_

**— — —**

"HULDA STOP!!"

A strong hand wrapped itself around her wrist and jerked her away, violently waking her up. Hulda blinked in the darkness in surprise and fright, because the very first thing she saw was Kára curled up on the floor with her back pressed against the stone wall. She had a cut on her cheek that went down to the corner of her lip. Blood and tears trickled down to her chin as the girl looked up at her mother with wet eyes and a look of pure fear.

"What--What's wrong?" Hulda asked, now aware that Ragnar was holding her from behind in a firm grip. She looked down at her hand when she felt the weight of something still clutched into it. To her horror, she was holding the woodcutter's axe. Panic jolted through her veins and she immediately dropped the weapon. Her body began to tremble from her legs to her hands, "What did I do?!?!"

Hulda began shouting those four words over and over again as she crumpled onto the floor. Ragnar moved over to Kára to check her wound, and then scooped her up and placed her in the bed. She still cried and would warily look over at her mother and then the axe before burying her face into Ragnar's chest. When Hulda saw this, she cried harder and crawled over to the bed to grasp Kára's hand in her own and began to kiss it tenderly and feverishly, begging for her forgiveness. Ragnar remained quiet, holding Kára in one arm, and using the other to stroke Hulda's hair. He rested his chin on Kára's head and allowed their weeping to fill the room as he gazed out the window where he could see the first snowflakes of winter descend from the sky.

**— — —**

The morning of the incident, Hulda had decided to visit the Seer to inquire about what was happening to her all year. She left Kára and the house to Ragnar for three nights. In her absence, Kára and Ragnar talked very little and with winter's arrival silence was in even more abundance in the forest. When Hulda finally returned home, it was in the afternoon on the fourth day. Ragnar was cutting firewood in the yard while Kára was skinning rabbits for a stew.

At the sound of her footsteps, Kára and Ragnar paused what they were doing. The former dropped her flaying knife and rabbit pelt on the ground and immediately ran to her and enveloped her in a long embrace.

"You're back!" She shouted.

Hulda wrapped her arms around her teenage daughter with a sad smile, and held her close and as long as possible. Her solemn eyes looked over her shoulder at Ragnar as he approached them both.

"What did the Seer say?" He asked.

Kára's face was still buried in her mother's shoulder, so she couldn't see the pained look on her mother's face.

"We should go inside. There is much to tell you, and It would be best if the air was warmer."

Worried, Kára unlatched herself from her mother to give her a curious look. She opened her mouth to ask what was wrong, but before she could finish her sentence, Hulda led her to the house with Ragnar. Once inside, Ragnar stoked the fire, and the two women sat on the cot with sheep pelts over their shoulders.

"What did He say to you?" Ragnar asked again when he sat himself on a stool next to the hearth. "Why are you having these dreams?"

Hulda's pained expression deepened. She reached and gently took Kára's hand in hers and kissed the knuckles before cradling it on her lap.

"It is difficult to say," she began. "He told me that it is my time."

"Your time?" Kára furrowed her eyebrows in concern. "What does that mean?"

"It means it's time for me to embrace my purpose in Midgard," Hulda explained. "My path of being a wife had ended, and now my path of being a mother has ended. Now it is time for me to become fully devoted to the gods, and live my life in solitary, as all Völva do once they reach their crone years."

Kára felt her mom squeeze her hand as she spoke, but she couldn't fully process what her mother was saying until she looked at her sadly. Which also means, my sweet daughter, that I must leave you."

"What?!" She pulled herself away from her mother and stood up. "You can't just leave me like that! I still need you! You are my mother!"

"Kára, you are no longer a child. You are a woman now, and you do not need me anymore. The gods have a fate for me that I must follow."

"Screw the gods!" she shouted.

"Kára!"

The girl continued, "You do not have to follow their paths. Stay here with me and Ragnar. We can be a family, and be happy. Everything we need is right here."

Ragnar shared a look with Hulda before they both looked sadly at Kára. Hulda slowly stood up and placed both her hands on the girl's shoulders. The girl had grown so much over the last year, that she was nearly as tall as her mother. Her waist was starting to narrow as her hips were growing wide, and her breasts, while hidden under her tunic, was starting to mound the older she got. Hulda rubbed her shoulders with her thumbs and looked at her sadly.

"I'm sorry, my love. If I stay here, the dreams will get worse. I do not wish to repeat what happened the other night. I cannot stop what is happening to me. The only choice I have is one that I wish I didn't need to take, but I fear that if I continue to ignore Freya's call, then I will only get worse over time."

Kára sucked her lips into a firm frown and squinted her eyes as they filled to the brim with tears, "But I'm not ready for you to leave me."

Hulda gave a sharp inhale of sadness, "Oh, my sweet girl..." She pulled Kára into a tight embrace and cradled her head into her shoulder. "You are more ready than you know. You are the strongest woman I know, in this life and the next. We will see each other again, that I'm certain. And even though I won't be with you in this stage of your life," she looked over at Ragnar who stood from the chair and approached Kára from behind. His hands reached out and placed it on Kára's shoulders.

Hulda smiled at him, "You will be in capable hands. Of that I'm sure."

* * *

  
  



	16. 15: the chicken guardian

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kara is tasked to take care of their new chickens. A simple task turned into a gruesome crusade of bloodlust and revenge.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello!
> 
> So, first things first. I really hope everyone is doing well during this strange, and uncertain time. I'm still working at the moment, because I work at an essential business (a pharmacy), and deal with people on a daily. I really hope you all are keeping safe and only going out to public places for essential needs, such as food and medication. If anyone has questions about the pandemic, or wants to talk, feel free to message me. I'm not a doctor or anyone qualified to give medical advice, but I do know a lot more information regarding safety and worries and misconceptions about shortages (at least in Canada)
> 
> It's important to know that every dismal era in history always leads into a great one. This is our transformative time in our lives. We are going to be a part of history, and we are going to change the world for the better. Everyone has a part in this. Everyone is important. There is a reason why we are the most successful species on planet earth, and it's are insanely stubborn ability to adapt to everything the universe throws at us. We've been through worse, during worse times, so we can get through this as long as we are united.
> 
> Second's thing second; This chapter is a transition one. It's on the shorter side, and it speeds through a lot of moments. It's a bit more boring than I wished, but it's imperative to know what happens during this time, because in the next chapter is the start of a new story arc for Kara. She will be in her late teens in the next chapter. And it's a very, very long one.
> 
> Hope everyone enjoys!

The winter was harsh and unforgiving. Piles of snow gathered to knee's height, forcing Ragnar and his new ward to keep in doors for as long as possible. The unforgiving blizzards had reduced game in the forest, so food was scarce. To make matters more discomforting, things had not been the same since Hulda had left them. Kára was quiet, short-tempered and slacked on her chores. Ragnar, having more experience with boys, allowed her to stew in her depression. He wasn't thrilled by the situation either, but he had love and obligation.

There were arguments here and there, particularly nights when the storms would snow them in, and keep them in for too long. The less food they came by, the more irritated both Ragnar and Kára became with each other. Eventually, they had no choice but to go to the market place in the city, which was not an easy decision. Neither of them were welcome in Kattegat, but they came to a begrudging conclusion that out of two of them, Kára was the least likely to be recognized. Thankfully, Hulda had left currency when she left, so Kára took just enough to purchase a crate of root vegetables and salted pork loins to last them through winter.

And just when they thought winter would never end, the blizzards became fewer, and the sun finally broke through the cloudy sky and thawed the ice and snow. It was still cold during those sunny days, but now Ragnar was able to clear the garden and repair damages from the storms of that season. Kára had left during the break of dawn in an attempt to find some meat, leaving Ragnar to his own devices and thoughts. By midday he had cleared the garden of snow and turned the soil. He missed this, he realized. The humble chores of a farmer were far more meditative than he recalled. No stress of the responsibilities of anyone else but his own. Ragnar sighed and leaned against the butt of his spade, looking around at the quaint surroundings of what was now his home. It still had Hulda's imprint in it, particularly the door to the house that had the carvings of Freya's cats. Though this home was no longer a witch's home-- it was going to be a small farm, and a farm needed livestock.

Ragnar grabbed the woodcutter's axe and began to hunt for suitable trees to cut and make lumber from. By the time Kára returned from her hunt, Ragnar had started to peg the ground with stakes into a perfect rectangle.

"What are you doing?" Kára asked as she went over to tie her hunt on the rack to bleed them out.

"Making a chicken coop," Ragnar responded without looking at her.

"We don't have chickens," she replied flatly, also not looking at him.

"We will," he responded simply, which earned him a glance from the redhead. "Once I am finished, you will go to the nearest farm and buy chickens and a rooster from them. They will provide us with eggs, which we can also sell in the market, and get enough to buy a goat for milk."

Kára sighed and didn't argue, but of course commented on it. "Ragnar Lothbrok, King of Kattegat; chicken farmer."

Ragnar grinned to himself, and said in a small voice, "I would rather be just a chicken farmer."

It took only two days for the chicken coop to be finished. Ragnar gave enough coppers to Kára to buy at least 4 chickens and a rooster, gave her a cart and sent her on her way. He did not expect her to return until evening, as the nearest farm was just a quarter's day walk from where they were. Ragnar spent the day in mild relaxation after finishing the duties in the garden and tanning hare hides. By evening, he was creating a bland turnip and rabbit stew in the cauldron when he heard the sound of wooden wheels on uneven ground, and the familiar coos of chickens. He left the stew to simmer and went outside to see Kára pulling the cart behind her in a huff.

Ragnar stood with his arms crossed in amusement, that is until she rolled in next to him, looking sweaty, red-faced, and miserable. And missing something in the cart.

"Where is the rooster?" He asked.

She sent him a heated glare, "The man refused to sell it to me for what you gave me."

Ragnar sighed, "We need a rooster."

"Hens lay eggs without roosters," she dropped the handles of the cart and went over to the cages.

"We need a rooster to protect them from predators," he followed closely behind her, not helping in any way as she hauled the four cages over to the coop. "You should go back with more coin."

Kára whipped around and deepened her glare at him, "I am _not_ going back. We don't need a rooster; they're annoying anyway. I will take care of the hens."

Ragnar lifted up his hands in predetermined defeat, with a small smirk on the corner of his lips that she didn't catch. "Fine, the hens are your responsibility. Their care is in your hands," he returned his arms across his chest as he watched her stubbornly move the cages. "You are responsible for feeding them, harvesting their eggs, keeping their nest clean, and making sure they are safe."

"Fine," she gave him a sarcastic smile, "I've already bonded with them, and given them names. They are now my children."

Ragnar leaned against the house and quirked an eyebrow in amusement, "Oh?"

"The white one is Birna, the spotted one is Folkvi, the brown one is Gislaug, and the one with feathery legs and feet is called Ragnhilda."

The viking looked at the latter of the four, and then back at her, "Let me guess, she is your least favourite?"

Kára pointedly opened up a cage and escorted the first hen into the coop, "No comment."

The week that followed, Ragnar witnessed the girl stubbornly do as she promised. She gathered the eggs, cleaned their nests and made sure they were fed. When she wasn't tending to their every need, she sat on the roof of the house and watched like a shepherd dog. Ragnar spent those days tending to the garden and cleaning the farming area of mud from the melting snow, and then would fish for the evening's supper.

All seemed well, except during one night, the two were roused awake when they heard distressed sounds coming from the chickens. Kára looked over at the door with tired eyes, and then back at Ragnar questioningly.

"What was that?"

Ragnar rubbed his eyes with the butt of his wrist, "Something's wrong with the chickens. Go check on them."

"Why do I have to?"

"They are your responsibility," he yawned and flopped back into the pillow.

Sighing irritably, Kára rolled out of bed and pulled the furs around her shoulders and slipped on her boots. It was chilly outside, so the absence of a warm cot with sheep's wool and furs was nearly physically painful when she stepped outside.

With a lamp in hand, Kára groggily left the warmth of the house and went over to the chicken coop, where they were all awake and pacing around the enclosure. Kára squinted in the darkness, and bent next entrance and saw brown feathers all over the place. She frowned deeply and checked the chickens and saw that there were only three; Gislaug was missing. The girl stood up and cast light over the carnage and immediately saw small canine footprints in the mud that disappeared into the forest, with little feathers trailing behind.

"Shit."

That morning Ragnar watched in silent amusement as Kára attempted to make fortifications in the coop to prevent foxes and other predators from getting to her three remaining hens. Ragnar made a comment about the rooster helping the situation, but she was having none of it, and would just criticize his bad job at chicken coop building.

Despite the efforts of improving the coop, the fox who had chicken-napped Gislaug was far too cunning, and in three days from then, they were short of another chicken. Folkvi was now in Valhalla. That morning Ragnar had the pleasure of a show to go with his porridge and warm mead. Kára cursed loudly, swearing at the forest as if it would respond, and then swearing to Odin that she would kill that fox and make a hat out of its pelt. That day Kára had made traps around the obvious weak points of the coop, and spent most of the day guarding it from the roof of the hut.

Ragnar let her do her own thing, only passing over bowls of stew and a horn of ale at supper time and when she was thirsty. The only words he spoke that day was to remind her it was getting late, and asked if she was coming in to sleep. Kára grunted a defiant "no" and a small speech about how she will not rest until she catches the animal. Ragnar gave a nod, but said nothing, then went inside with an amused smile.

The last few nights were the same. Kára would eventually concede and go to sleep in the wee hours of the morning and would sleep well into the afternoon, leaving Ragnar in blissful peace as he worked on their small farm. Things seemed to be relatively well, especially now they had eggs and meat to eat. Birna and Ragnhilda became less stressed now they felt less threatened with a teenage centurion guarding them until daybreak.

But peace would end.

That morning Ragnar woke up to a bright new day, and proceeded to do the usual. He looked over at Kára's cot and found it empty, which was unusual given her sleeping schedule as of late. He walked outside with a drink in his hand and looked around at the clearing, and saw nothing but scattered white feathers, all leading towards the coop. He followed the trail and peered into the coop, and, as he suspected, only saw one chicken. Ragnar spun around and saw Kára sleeping soundly on the roof.

He chugged down the rest of his drink and chucked the wooden cup at her, successfully hitting her cheek and waking her up in a start. Kára blinked at the sun peaking through the budding leafs of the trees and then peered over at Ragnar and then at the cup.

"Is it midday already?"

"Birna is dead," Ragnar flatly told her and then waltzed back into the house.

As he sat down and lifted up his feet, he listened to Kára's scrambling down the roof and the pleasantly loud reaction when she saw the carnage around the coop. Ragnar poured himself another cup of ale and sighed.

Just before the sun set that day, Ragnar watched from the window in the house as Kára set up camp inside the coop itself. He shook his head in disbelief, only making a comment about how uncomfortable that would be, knowing she would dismiss his warning and proceed with what she was doing. Kára continued to sleep in the coop with Ragnhilda for 5 nights straight, and all those nights she kept her bow and dagger with her, waiting for the next raid to happen.

**— — —**

Kára was half asleep, as per usual, in the coop. It was difficult to sleep next to chicken mess right next to her face, and the straw made her body, especially her head, itch. At the very least, Ragnhilda was quiet during the night, only giving off soft coo's, which only served to be comforting reminders to Kára that she was still alive. The girl curled up and sighed, trying to rest her troubled mind with thoughts of her misfortune of the last year and a half. It worked, for a moment, as she felt her mind be pulled into a proper sleep that she hasn't had in a moon's cycle. But suddenly, she was pulled out of sleep by the screeching and aggressive flapping of Ragnhilda.

Kára shot up right away, but didn't rightly react until she processed what she saw. Poor Ragnhilda was struggling and squawking loudly while being in the jaws of _the_ fox. The fox made a brief eye contact with Kára before pulling away into a loose panel and fleeing the scene.

Cursing, the girl scrambled to get up and gather her bow and quiver and tore out of the coop, nearly tripping over the traps she set up. The feathers lead into the woods, where she saw the very tip of the fox's tail disappear into. The moon was large enough to show some light, but as she ran after it, the night was not on her side and she lost sight of him. Kára was determined, though, and she intended to avenge the deaths of her chickens.

So she slowed down and searched for the fox tracks. Once she found them, she followed slowly, trying not to miss them in the darkness. Kára tracked until finally the sun rose, and illuminating the trees as it rose over the horizon, making it easier to see the paw prints in the dirt, as well as stray white feathers stuck in shrubbery.

After a few moments, the silence of the early morning was filled with the soft sounds of the crunching of bones and the shuffling of small pads on dead leaves. Kára crouched down and pulled out her bow and began to creep between the trees as she followed the sounds. It led her to the fox den; a burrow hidden under a large fallen oak tree, with spring moss and grass blossoming on the top. She pulled out an arrow and knocked it back as she crept through the bushes until she was able to get the perfect shot. But once she had the orange fur within her sights, Kára paused, because small bodies bounced around its legs. She lowered her arrow, and watched as the fox stood vigilantly next to the body of Ragnhilda and her kits hopping around her legs and wrestling over their breakfast. The smallest kit, with odd white markings around her eyes, struggled to get to the bird as her siblings blocked her way. The bowstring relaxed in her fingers as she watched the mother sit down with her babies as they feasted. The fox looked about the area with focused vigilance, moving her head to and fro, while her ears flickered back and forth to every sound. The crunch of leaves beneath Kára's foot allerted the animal to her. The fox stared at her in alert, now standing on all fours, moving over to put herself in front of her kits. Kára simply stared back into the animal's amber eyes for what seemed like an eternity, then she returned her arrow back into her quiver.

**— — —**

Ragnar had woken up that morning completely alone. Just like the past few days, he woke up and prepared breakfast for both he and Kára, who he would bring the food to in the coop. However, that morning, when he walked outside the first thing he noticed was the coop door wide open and inside was completely vacant. His eyes followed the trail of feathers and the imprints of Kára's footsteps in the soft soil following them. Ragnar's gaze stopped at the edge of the forest just in time to see a head of fiery orange hair clashing against a background of green.

With a sigh, he put the bowl of porridge on the workbench and crossed his arms. "Lost your new hat?"

When she avoided his eyes and didn't reply with a snarky reply, Ragnar let his arms drop to his sides. Kára dropped herself on a stool and laid her bow and quiver against the house, then ran her fingers through her hair.

"What happened?" Ragnar brought over the other stool and plopped down next to her.

Kára scratched her head vigorously as she finally made a sound of frustration. "I am so... ugh, I am so useless!" She kicked over a bucket of chicken feed in her grievance.

Taken back by surprise, Ragnar furrowed his brows, "Why do you say this?"

"The fox! She was just feeding her children!" She leaned back and slammed the back of her head against the house. "And I couldn't even take care of 4 dumb birds," she sighed, then reached up again to scratch her head. "Mother left me, and I realize I have no idea how to take care of myself."

"Kára, you have all the necessary skills to survive," Ragnar replied. "You hunt, fish, and are resourceful."

"But I cannot fight. I cannot defend," she replied, digging her nails into the back of her scalp. "I am a woman grown now, and I do not know anything beyond this forest. There is so little of the world I know, or have seen. I was bested by a fox, Ragnar. How will I ever defend myself and my kin from something far stronger?"

"You are still young. You have time to learn all of this,"

Kára rolled her head to look at him, "You were my age when you rescued mother from the tower."

Ragnar gave her a gentle smile and placed his hand on his shoulder, "It is spring, Greenfoot. The season of rebirth. I will teach you what you must learn. I will teach you to be viking."

Kára lifted up her head from the wall and blinked at him, "You will teach me to be viking? Like Bjorn?" She asked as she scratched the side of her head.

He nodded, "But first..." Ragnar reached out and pulled her hand away from her head and then jerked her down so he could see her scalp. "We will deal with the lice first."

"LICE?!"

Moments after Ragnar had found lice in her red mane, Kára was subjected to the most uncomfortable day in her life. Ragnar had cut off her hair until it was so short, that she looked like a boy. Then, he created a type of soap by mixing hearth ash and animal fats, in which he rubbed vigorously into her scalp. He then roughly combed out what remained of her hair, soliciting yells and angry remarks from the teenager. Ragnar was no stranger to lice, as most parents were. Bjorn had lice a few times when he was younger than Kára, and he and Lagertha had dealt with it the same way. Bjorn complained just as much as Kára, too.

Kára was instructed to sit for some time while soap was festering in her hair. Ragnar claimed it would suffocate the lice, but she was convinced it was payback for not listening to him about the rooster. She smelled absolutely horrible. When it was time to wash it off, Kára had never been more eager to throw herself in the river for a bath.

**— — —**

After the lice had been dealt with, Ragnar set to work on training Kára to be viking. Using wooden sticks, he taught her how to sword fight. Then, how to use an axe, like him. It didn't stop there, of course, as Ragnar would also indulge her in stories of his battles both on homeland and distant lands, most prominently England. With that, she learned creative strategy, eventually.

Training was every day in some form. After chores were done, Ragnar had new lessons, or continued off of old ones until she could perfect what she learned. This had gone on every day for the next year and a half. During the winter months, Ragnar had begun to teach her the language of the saxons after she showed interest in visiting there multiple times. This above all else, was the most difficult, and took longer than anything else. When it came to fighting, Ragnar observed that Kára quickly grasped it as if it was already in her nature to fight. In some moments, Ragnar had forgotten that she was still in training, particularly since he spotted movements in her body that reminded him of the fighting style of someone he once fought against. He noticed that she preferred range in fighting; putting distance between herself and her opponent, and she would use speed to increase the distance and prioritized defence over offense. There was no contest that she was an expert with a bow, but the axe was her weak point. She was better with a short sword, as it allowed her to use her natural dexterous skills. There was no doubt in Ragnar's mind that Kára would be an excellent shield maiden some day. Though that next step is something that was out of his hands, as there were just some lessons a man could not teach a girl.

Ragnar and Kára had become comfortable with their modest life, and things had started to move efficiently between the two. Their small garden was lively with produce, and Kára often came home with some kind of meat for dinner for them to eat. However, their comfortable life couldn't last forever, and Ragnar knew at some point it had to end, he just didn't know when that would be.

The two had spent two winters alone at Hulda's house, and in those two years they had no visitors. Kára would often visit the market place or local farmers and fishermen to purchase or trade with them, but Ragnar had spent those years having no other contact with the outside world. It seemed like Kattegat had forgotten about Hulda, or assumed that the queen outlawed seeking her services. Perhaps assuming no one would come visit the Völva after the fall out with Aslaug was a bad decision, because neither Kára or Ragnar predicted a visitor one late spring day.

"Hello? Are you Hulda the Red?"

Kára was weeding out the garden when she heard the voice, and her body reacted immediately. She whipped up and twisted around to the unfamiliar voice. There was a man there, at least twice her age, standing next to a shorter woman that was much closer to her own age. Kára looked between the two in uncertainty, and then glanced over at Ragnar, who was crouched over the turnips in the garden. He was frozen too, only his eyes glanced up at Kára in a silent panic to disguise his identity.

The two strangers continued even though Kára didn't respond.

"My wife and I are trying to conceive, and we are having difficulty---"

"Hulda no longer lives here," Kára finally spoke. "She had moved on years ago when Queen Aslaug banished her and her daughter from Kattegat."

The two looked at each other in disappointment before the woman turned to look at Kára with a tilt of her head, "Are-- are you her daughter? Are you Kára?"

The redhead was surprised by the stranger's knowledge of her name. Even when her mother was more often sought out by the villagers, none of them knew the name of the daughter of the witch. Had her time with the Lothbrok brothers had given her some sort of notoriety? Kára glanced at Ragnar who remained where he was, but this time he was shooting her a warning stare.

She turned back at the strangers and opened her mouth, but it seemed like her reluctance to answer gave the woman confirmation. She stepped away from her husband and towards Kára with desperation, her hands reached out and took the girl's and clasped them into her own.

"You are, aren't you? Please, you must know how to help us. We have been trying to have a child since last summer," Her hands were soft, but they gripped Kára's hard enough that even a tug wasn't going to loosen them.

"Uh," She glanced over to the husband who approached his wife from behind and put a hand on her shoulder. His eyes were pleading.

"I-- uh... Midsommar!" Kára spoke finally "Midsommar is approaching. Bathe under the next full moon, and then conceive on Midsommar."

Hope lit up in the woman's eyes as a smile sprung to her lips. In a swift moment, she had let go of Kára's hands only to envelope her into a bone crushing hug. The woman thanked her profusely and kissed her on both her cheeks and then pulled away to dig into her purse.

"Here, this was my father's when he went to England with Ragnar," she took Kára's hand again and placed a silver chain with a cross charm on the end; a ruby planted on the very center.

"No-- you do not have to give this to me--"

"I insist," she folded Kára's fingers over the necklace and fell into the arms of her husband, who smiled and nodded in thanks.

"I-- uh--"

"We will try what you say, Huldadóttir. If we have a girl, we will name it after you," He bowed his head as he and his wife began to leave the area. His last words were, "Gods bless you and your slave."

If Kára wasn't so dumbfounded by this entire interaction, she might have laughed at that.

Once they were gone, Ragnar stood up from the garden, and watched their silhouettes disappear into the wood.

"Will that work?" He asked, referring to the advice that she had given them.

"I have no idea," Kára sighed and looked down at the chain in her hand. "They knew who I was."

"And the girl's father raided with me," Ragnar's mouth was in a hard line. "After today, more will come, once others learn you helped them. We cannot stay here."

Kára swallowed, feeling her stomach twist in nerves from yet another change in her life. "Where will we go?"

Ragnar didn't answer her right away, even though he knew exactly where they would go. Though the 'they' part was always questioned by him. He was not ready to face his people, or his family after his failures in Paris. They saw him completely broken and hollow on the inside, that even if he returned now, the wound of his abandonment would still be fresh. Despite his recovery with Hulda and Kára, there was still a lot Ragnar had to do for himself, and resuming his farmer lifestyle was just a bandage on a festering wound. He needed to find himself again, and he could not do that with Kára. He couldn't put her through that, especially since she had done so much for him already. He repaid her by training her to what she needed to know, but now she was ready to become what she needed to be. And this old man could not offer her those skills.

There was only one person that could.

"Hedeby," He finally replied.

Kára stared at him for a beat, "We're going to Hedeby? Isn't that Lagertha's earldom?"

" _We_ aren't going," he turned to her and lowered his head so he could look her in the eye. " _You_ are. Our time together is done, Kára."

The feeling of abandonment blossomed in her chest once again, and Kára's old feelings from when her mother left her woken once more. Her brows furrowed in hurt confusion, though she did not feel the same crippling sadness she felt when her mother left. She was much older now, and knew that her life with Ragnar could not last forever, but she was just never fully prepared to be alone.

"But you are not done teaching me to be viking," she argued.

Ragnar ruffled her hair before cupping her cheek in a fatherly way. "You are not meant to be viking," he confessed. "You are too good for that. What you are in your blood is the same as Lagertha, and your aunt, Sigrún. You are shieldmaiden. That is a path I cannot walk with you, unfortunately. Coming with me will only hinder your destiny, Kára. I will take you to Hedeby, but that is where we must part." When Kára didn't argue or say anything, Ragnar gave her a sad smile and pulled her in for a hug. He rested his chin on her head, feeling his eyes sting with salty tears that he tried to control.

"Lagertha is your future, do you understand?" He felt her nod into his chest, along with a dampness that soaked into his tunic.

"Will I ever see you again?" She asked as she curled her fingers into his back, desperate not to let him go.

"I do not know," he confessed. "But if we do not meet again in this life, we will see each other again in Valhalla, and there you can tell me tales of your many victories and battles."

Kára inhaled deeply before giving a shaky sigh. Her eyes were tightly closed as she concentrated on his voice and the beat of his heart in her ear. All she could think to herself was how unexpectedly painful this was, and why. When she opened her eyes, she was looking into the forest that surrounded their modest home, and in the dense greenery she could see the contrast of the orange fox in the distance, staring back at her with amber eyes. The unique markings of her face are distinctive with that of the runt of the kits she had seen two years ago. The small kit was now large, with a brilliantly orange and black coat, of that she had never seen before.

"So this is what it feels like to have a father," Kára gently spoke as she watched the fox disappear into the forest. She shut her eyes tightly as she allowed the warmth of Ragnar's body envelope her, allowing her body to collapse in his strong embrace one last time.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hopefully I'll have chapter 16 out sooner than later. This story arc is proving to be longer and more detailed than I anticipated, but I really enjoy this arc. I introduce new characters that become important to Kara's life, and introduces important canon characters.


	17. 16: the shieldmaidens of hedeby

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kara struggles with her new life as one of many shieldmaidens under Lagertha's wing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * ! ! IMPORTANT NOTICE ! ! *
> 
> After this chapter, the rating for this story will be increased for more Mature audiences. After this point, the story will have graphic depictions of violence, descriptions of blood and gore, mature things, and mild sexual themes. I will be posting a chapter summary at the end of chapters for readers that wish to skip over scenes or whole chapters that revolve around these themes.

Kára was in a deep abysmal sleep when she felt her body being shook back and forth vigorously.

"Kára, wake up, it is nearly noon," the voice said as it continued to shove her roughly until the redhead snorted herself awake. "Lagertha is expecting us soon."

Blinking at the bright light that filled the small house that was her new home, Kára growled as she pulled her heavy body off the cot.

"I'm up," she mumbled, rubbing sand from her eyes.

"Hurry and get ready," Kára's house mate began tossing her, her gear and then gathered their weapons and shields.

It had been two moons since Kára came to Hedeby, and in that time she seemed to be overloaded with stresses that she wasn't ready for. She was still getting over being left a second time in her life; Ragnar had brought her to the border of the city, where he promised her that he would talk to Lagertha about taking Kára as a ward and a new shieldmaiden. However, that morning Kára found herself completely alone at the camp, which she suspected was his intent the entire time. Ragnar was not ready to face his past just yet, and she knew that. Though in his place, he left his armring, which was his gift to Kára after all they had been through. In the end, it was the armring that had verified her purpose to Lagertha.

When Kára entered the Earl's hall, she was met with curious eyes and suspicion, since she was a stranger in their midst. Usually travellers bring some sort of news, so everyone waited to see what her purpose was in Lagertha's earldom. When Kára finally got an audience with the Earl, she was taken back by the strength and beauty that seemed to radiate off of her. She was no queen, but she held herself like one, unlike Aslaug. Kára never formally met Lagertha, despite the fact that the shieldmaiden knew Hulda. When asked why she was here, Kára had told her who she was, and it was somewhat apparent that Lagertha saw the familiarity in her features, and namely in the colour of her mane. Kára then asked that she wished to be shieldmaiden, like her aunt before her, and that she knew Lagertha would be the only person she could trust to lead her to that fate. But what truly convinced the earl of Hedeby to take the teenager under her wing was the silent gesture of presenting her arm where Ragnar's armring sat. Lagertha immediately recognized it, and knew with no words spoken who brought her here, and why.

In the days following, Lagertha had introduced her to a few of the young shieldmaidens, one of them being Esmé, who ended up being the person Kára shared a home with. Esmé was a former frankish slave, brought back from Paris by Lagertha a few years ago. Esmé had been freed by Lagertha sometime last winter after she deemed her worthy of their ways. Kára learned from Esmé herself that she had lived a life of poverty in Paris; her mother was a prostitute and groomed her daughter to become a young prostitute herself. When the vikings invaded the first time, Esmé was one of the captured children to be used as slaves, and was bought by Lagertha. She lost love for the Christian God long ago, and so when she was introduced to the norse culture and gods, Esmé had converted and over time Lagertha had freed her.

During the weeks that Kára had resided in Hedeby, she had been having a difficult time adjusting to her new life. She was not used to being around so many people every day; she had grown comfortable to the quiet life she had with Ragnar, and the isolated life she had with her mother. Living in a city, even one small like Hedeby, was always busy. There was also the matter of trying to stand out among the other young shieldmaidens that have far more experience under the guidance of Lagertha, and therefore have a bigger impression. Now that she was in a group of girls, she no longer had the benefit of having a teacher to herself, like she did with Ragnar. So often, it was her and the other girls learning off of each other, and Kára knew nothing about how to fight like a shieldmaiden. She never used a shield before, which made things she was normally good at difficult. It made her slower, which hindered her best ability. To make matters worse, her best skill, archery, was challenged by another who was just as good if not better than Kára.

Svana was born and raised in Hedeby, so she had known and looked up to Lagertha all her life. She had come from a long line of shieldmaidens herself, and her father had been one of the locals to side with Lagertha when she had usperuped Sigvard's earldom. Svana's roots were deeper than Kára's ever were, so it was a bit disconcerting that Svana was constantly being praised for her prowess, whereas Kára was constantly being criticized.

The stress of not being good enough made Kára believe that Ragnar made a mistake in believing in her at all. That stress began to manifest in sleepless nights as thoughts upon thoughts would crowd each other in Kára's mind. It made sleeping difficult, so sleeping into the noon was not new to her these past few weeks. It had begun to affect her ability to keep up with rigorous daily training, and Lagertha was aware of that. Just a couple of days ago, Lagertha herself had found Kára still sleeping well through midday, and had dumped cold river water all over her. She hadn't recovered fully from that humiliation, but that didn't cure her inability to fall asleep.

Esmé was waiting outside eating an apple, looking around vigilantly to make sure that Lagertha was not coming in their direction. She paused mid bite when she saw the familiar long mane of blonde hair in the distance, standing next to Astrid, another well known shieldmaiden and Lagertha's companion. Astrid caught Esmé's eye, and raised her eyebrow warningly. With the apple stuck in the frankish woman's jaw, she began to pound on the wooden door loudly.

Kára emerged not long after that, adjusting her scabbard around her hips. Esmé tossed her another apple and the two began to walk towards the earl's hall just in time for Lagertha to turn in their direction. The two girls nodded at the earl in greeting.

"Esmé, join Astrid in the training yard. I wish to talk with Kára," Lagertha watched as the brunette nodded her head, gave a wary glance at her house mate and followed the older shieldmaiden towards the yard. Lagertha tilted her chin in their direction until she saw them well away from the two, and then turned to Kára with a harder stare.

"You slept in again," Lagertha stated matter-of-factly, her arms crossed over her chest. "This is becoming a habit I am losing patience for. I cannot help you become a shieldmaiden when you are asleep for half of the day."

Kára's expression was both guilty and tired. She looked down at her apple as she twisted the stem anxiously, "It won't happen again, Lagertha."

"Why do I have a feeling that is not true?" She raised an eyebrow, and then her arms fell from her crossed state. She stepped closer to the young girl, and placed a hand on her shoulder as she tilted her head at her. "I doubt you were like this living a farm life. What troubles you, Kára?"

Kára opened her mouth and then closed it. She summoned up all her courage to look Lagertha in the eye, and when she did, she felt overwhelmed with it all. Her mother was Odin knows where, and Ragnar had left her with complete strangers. She was exiled from Kattegat, and never will see Ivar again. Her competence was constantly being questioned and challenged, and she was on a downward spiral of self doubt. The truth was on her lips and on her mind, but it wouldn't leave her tongue. It was the dewy look in her eye that spoke, and that was all Lagertha needed to know.

The earl took Kára to the Hall and into an adjacent room to talk to her about what was going on. Kára explained while trying to fight back the tears, that she had been having difficulty sleeping due to not being able to shut off her head of memories and intrusive thoughts. She told her about what happened in Kattegat, and that she had never really dealt with the trauma emotionally, but rather swallowed it and never mentioned it. Lagertha was all too aware of the toxicity that was Aslaug, so at this she greatly empathized with the girl's betrayal and heartbreak. By the time Kára finished chronicling her troubles, she was hunched over with her face in her hands, trying to hide it from Lagertha.

"Kára, you must not compare yourself to others," she shieldmaiden said in regards to Kára's worries over her prowess. "You must learn from others, and embrace the challenges that they give you. Svana is skillful, yes, but she knows nothing outside of the safety of Hedeby. I do not expect her to understand more than what she already knows, not even when she is thrusted into the wilderness."

Kára pulled her face from her hands and looked up at Lagertha, "Then why do you praise her as much as you do, but are more critical of me?"

"Because," she bent down to rest her hands on her knees and so she could look the young girl in the eye. "You are different. Svana and many of the others have nearly reached the limit of their capabilities, but you can exceed them. I suspect my ex husband did not give you to me because he believed I can make use of you. I see that he entrusted you to me to help you reach your fullest potential. Svana is a fine warrior, and I do not doubt her mettle in battle, but she has been with me since she was a child, and I have not seen growth from her in many seasons." Lagertha reached out and put her palm on Kára's hand. "I am more critical of you, Kára, because you can do better, and you know it. I can see it in your eyes that you feel that power in your bones, do you not?"

Kára's mouth opened as she looked off in the distance in thought. For as long as she could remember, she had dreams of being in battles with no control over her actions. She thought back to the time when she was in the training yard back at Kattegat with the Ragnarssons, and how she shot the pheasant out of pure luck. Or was it? What of the time she was chased by presumingly Sköll and Hati in a forest? She had not stopped to think why they were chasing her, or how she was able to get away from them. The moon, dark red and broad in the sky guided her through the forest like a guide from Asgard. With that night in mind, Kára was reminded of the Seer's words that night. He told her she died twice: a battlefield was her death, but water was her grave. She still hadn't the faintest idea of what he meant by that.

"The Seer once told me that he could not see my fate. That not even Freya knew it," Kára spoke out loud, mostly to herself than to Lagertha. "He said that I must decide who I want to be. Defined by the past, or designed for the future."

"And which road speaks to you?"

For the longest time, it was easy to say the latter of the two choices was the right one. Afterall, progress doesn't move if you have your back to the future. However, there was something in the back of her mind that felt like a lost memory she couldn't reach, and without it, she could not move forward.

Kára shifted her eyes at Lagertha, "The sea has no roads."

**— — —**

The fortnight that followed, Kára had improved with her sleeping. Her talk with Lagertha did lighten the load of her worries, and the Earl had made suggestions to help silence those thoughts before sleep. One of them was to do a task just before bed so that it would keep her mind off of intrusive thoughts, and would tire her eyes. Kára took to wood sculpting, something that she had never really cared to learn, but found it similar to fletching or when she created her first bow. With her quality of sleep slowly improving, so did her demeanor during the day.

Kára was in the training yard with Esmé, training a group of children how to shoot a bow, as per request of Lagertha. Astrid was observing the two at the fence, every once in a while yelling a cheeky comment about it all. Astrid was a favourite of both Kára's and Esmé's, almost like she was an older sister. Lagertha must have talked to her about Kára's distresses, because ever since that day, Astrid had taken an interest in Kára's abilities with a shield, or rather lack of abilities.

"Straighten your elbow," Kára adjusted the arm of a 9 year old boy she was in charge of. "Don't use all your fingers - the release will be slower." As she was gently directing the boy to make his next shot, Kára heard a laugh from behind her. It wasn't Astrid, or Esmé.

"This is cute," Svana commented as she hopped over the fence, bow in hand. "I see Lagertha has you two training the little ones. Finally giving _something_ for the two of you to do."

Kára rolled her eyes and went back to the boy, and bent down to his level so she could aid in his aim.

"What do you want, Svana?" Esmé asked exasperated.

"I just came back from a very successful hunt," Kára could hear the smirk on her voice. "Shot down a stag in just two arrows. Thought you two would like to know what we're having for dinner."

"Great," Kára sighed just after her charge shot his arrow, and it landed on the second circle of the target. "Just what I wanted: rank flavoured venison."

"What?" Svana crossed her arms, head tilted at her. "Think you can do better?"

"Well, considering it's the start of rut season; yes, I can. Stag in rut have tainted meat, and they are also quite dumb, and therefor easier to kill," Kára stood up and finally turned to look at Svana with her hands on her hips. "But congratulations."

Svana seemed to take that as a challenge, as she charged over to her, her bow still clutched at hand. She plucked an arrow from the ground and turned to stand in front of Kára, her chest puffed out like a Stag in rut season.

"Everyone here knows I'm a better archer than you, Ulfsdóttir. You do not need to act as if you know more than you do. It makes you look pathetic," Svana spoke as she drew her bow. She did not aim, instead she kept her eyes trained on Kára's in a show of dominance. Her arrow loosed, and at rapid speed, it landed in the bull's eye. The force rocked the target violently back and forth.

Kára looked over at Esmé in silent help, but the frankish woman merely gave her a tight lip smile, trying to disguise her amusement over this peacock display of superiority. The redhead looked back at Svana, looking even more smug than she normally did. Which was saying something.

"I don't need to prove anything to you Svana," Kára stepped through her, bumping her shoulder, and started to make her way to the fence with intent to leave. There was no way she was going to lose her cool in front of children, and especially not Astrid. She passed by the boy who had retreated from the scene, and gave him a ruffle of his hair and a reassuring smile.

"Typical," Svana snorted. "Walking away from difficulty seems to run in the family."

That made Kára freeze in her spot. She could actually feel her blood start to boil and her fingers twitch. Her nose flared as she gave a heavy and heated sigh in an attempt to slow down her heartbeat. In a purposeful motion, she gently took the boy's bow and two arrows from his quiver.

She aimed one at Svana.

"Svana," Kára called out.

The blonde turned around, and before she could even register what she was looking at, an arrow wheezed passed her cheek, cutting off a thread of hair, and then less than a second after, another one. The last one nicked her cheek.

It all happened so quickly, if anyone blinked, they would have missed it. Svana looked at Kára, not realizing the slice in her cheek was bleeding. Kára lowered her bow and raised her chin at her. That is when the blonde turned around and looked at the target. Svana's arrow and the boy's arrow were split in half down the middle by Kára's.

"Looks like I missed my target," the redhead spoke as she gave the boy back his bow and turned back around. That was when Svana felt the tickle of trickling blood down her chin, and reached up to touch the wound.

When Kára turned around and looked over to the fence, she saw two figures standing there next to a shocked and amused Astrid. Lagertha stood there with the smallest smirks and a twinkle of appraisal in her eye. Standing next to her was a stranger; a tall man with white-blonde hair and large muscular structure. He appeared to be in his early twenties, but the scars and tattoos that decorated his exposed skin made him appear older than he was. He, unlike Lagertha, had a smirk more noticable and broad. It reached his honey eyes.

Blushing, Kára's mouth hung open as she dipped her head down and glanced back at Astrid in a silent inquisition. Once she reached the three, Lagertha pursed her lips to contain her true reaction over the showboating, but gave her a small nod of approval.

"Kára, gather your shield sisters. There is something I would like to discuss with you all at the Hall," The earl commanded.

The girl nodded, and gave a brief glance at the tall stranger as the two walked away. Once they were out of ear shot, Kára looked at Astrid who finally let her guard down.

"I will treasure that moment forever," she said through a smile.

"Who was that?" Kára nodded towards the blonde man.

Astrid looked over her shoulder, "That is one of Lagertha's rangers. Thorvald Asvaldsson." The older woman turned back to the younger and smirked a bit, "Why? Like what you see?"

Kára furrowed her brow at her, "Not really my type."

**— — —**

Kára and the other shieldmaidens had gathered in the hall as commanded by Lagertha. The redhead sat beside Esmé on the bench near the front, while Svana had positioned herself on the opposing side on the right side of the hall. Her cheek was bandaged up, but her face was still glowing red from both anger and embarrassment.

As the bodies started to settle in available seats and spots, Kára leaned into her friend and asked what she thought this was about.

"Thorvald is one of Hedeby's rangers. It's likely he has come with news with a threat of some kind," Esmé explained. "I have not seen him for some time; he must have bleached his hair, because it's lighter."

Kára shifted and narrowed her eyes at her friend, "Why do I get the feeling that he is the desire of many women here?"

The brunette laughed, "What? You're lying if you do not find him attractive."

Kára's eyes traveled back to the tall masculine man standing next to Lagertha's throne, and immediately regretted it, because the second she looked at him, his eyes moved and caught hers. She promptly looked away, putting her arm to block his view of her, and vice versa.

"He's not my type," She found herself saying the second time today.

Esmé snorted, "That is a lie."

The redhead narrowed her eyes at her, but couldn't respond since Lagertha was now commanding attention of her young Shieldmaidens in the Hall. Everyone turned to her in anticipation of what she had to say. Lagertha had mentioned a farming village named Skuggabjorg in the Earldom of Hedeby had been enduring monthly attacks on their livestock. The Settlement was a two day's ride from the capital, and was isolated from more populated villages in the earldom, hidden away in rolling hills and thick forests.

"Thorvald has told me that the settlement has had their livestock threatened for the better part of summer, and he believes that the culprit is a den of wolves in the nearby forest," Lagertha explained and looked over at the man to continue.

"Game is scarce this year in that area, because the waters are running low. There are not many elk frequenting the area, so the wolves of the forest have taken to the livestock of the farmers. Only, according to the residents, these are not normal wolves," Thorvald explained and shared a look with Lagertha, before looking back at the group of women. "They believe these wolves were sent by the god Loki; descendents from his son, Fenrir."

This was met with a chorus of whispers in the room, but Kára remained silent. All she could think of was that day of the Blood Moon. She glanced between the ranger and the earl, and saw they were visibly skeptical. The superstitions of the farmers were not taken seriously, but only showed the severity of the situation.

Lagertha voiced her opinion as such after she quieted the talk in the hall, "There is no proof that these animals are of the gods, but what we do know is that they are smart. They have adapted around their traps and caused much damage and carnage. There are young children in this settlement, and mothers fear that the wolves will become desperate and hunt their young ones. They have requested help to deal with this problem. Thorvald has suggested that he needs 4 capable warriors and hunters to aid him with ridding the wolves from the area."

Immediately hands shot in the air and whispers turned into shouts of pleads to be picked. Lagertha ignored all the volunteers, and shouted above their voices that she already made a choice.

"Svana," she called. The girl perked up from her spot, all bitterness from before disappeared as she was chosen first.

"Gunnr," Lagertha continued. A girl with shoulder length mousy brown hair and a broad body stood proudly.

"Ljóta," was the third name. A tall and slender brunette girl pulled herself from the wall she was leaning on, and placed her fist on her chest.

"And Kára," Lagertha looked over at the redhead, who remained sitting. "You four will join Thorvald to the village."

There was chatter around the hall, but Kára remained silent. Instead she looked at Lagertha as the woman looked back at her. She wondered if this decision was made during the display earlier, but if that were the case, why would she have Svana come with her?

Kára turned to Esmé, "Odin help me."

The frankish woman patted her on the back, "If the wolves don't kill you all, I'm sure the two of you will."

**— — —**

After a day of preparation, Kára and their team of wolf-hunters were riding out of Hedeby towards the farming village. Kára was prepared for a long ride, though she wondered if the other three girls that came understood how long it would be. Afterall, the three of them were born and raised in the capital, and as far as she knew, only have been to Kattegat once in their lives. This would be their very first adventure.

Kára rode on her horse alongside Gunnr, while Ljóta rode a head of them and Thorvald and Svana were leading the team side by side. Kára squinted at the man and Svana, the latter laughing loudly to be heard from where she was. Kára must have had a visibly sour look on her face, because Gunnr chuckled beside her.

"Wish you were there instead of here?"

The redhead tore her head from Svana and sent Gunnr a sharp glare. She was really starting to hate people insinuating she was infatuated with Thorvald. Gunnr laughed louder at Kára's expression, which made Svana look over her shoulder at the two behind them. Rolling her eyes, the blonde turned away from them and resumed talking to Thorvald.

"I heard what happened at the training yard the other day," Gunnr spoke.

Kára glanced at her riding companion, and then back in front of her, "Let's hear what yarn people have woven now."

"That you tried shooting at Svana, but she dodged it," Gunnr smiled. "And that is why she has a scar on her cheek."

"Well, that's half true," Kára sighed.

"Astrid told me the truth of it," Gunnr replied. "It is about time someone knocks that girl off her high horse. One of these days it's going to get her killed."

"I was under the impression everyone liked her."

Gunnr gave a light laugh, "It is easier to stay on her good side. Trust me, most of us resent her. She always has to be the best and right about everything. It can be quite condescending to those who have trained most of their life to get where they are at."

"She is just a big fish in a small pond," Kára commented. "She won't know what to do in the open sea."

**— — —**

The sun was hanging low, threatening the sunset of the first day of travel. The five of them set up camp in the forest before it got dark, so by the time they prepared a campfire, they still had enough light to scout the area for resources. Svana immediately said she was going to go hunt for something to eat, which made Kára roll her eyes.

"Do you not remember what Lagertha said?" Kára looked at her as she cracked twigs for kindling. "There is little game in the forest, because of the drought. It is a waste of time to hunt for food this late in the day."

Svana scoffed, "We cannot survive on our rations. We need to save them for tomorrow's journey." She picked up her bow and looked at the only male in the party, "Do you wish to join me, Thorvald?"

He looked up slightly surprised, "I think I'll stay. I'll only slow you down, Svana."

"I'll join you, Svana," Ljóta said, dropping what she was doing and grabbing her own bow.

Svana tried her best not to show her disappointment and reluctantly agreed to the brunette's help. The two left the clearing as the light of the sun began to dim behind the trees. It was only the first night, and they were already going to lose two of their party to the forest. Arrogance was the enemy to reason.

Kára looked over at Thorvald, "You know they are just going to get lost once it gets dark."

Thorvald looked at her and smirked, "To be honest, I just needed a few moments of peace and quiet. That Svana knows how to talk one's ear off."

Kára could hear Gunnr snort and make some sort of comment concurring to that statement. It was then Kára realized this was the first time she actually directly talked to their party leader, and vice versa. An unsettling awkwardness made home in her stomach as she tried her best to find more words to battle against uncomfortable silences. In the end, Gunnr was the one who spoke, which Kára was beyond grateful for.

"I am sure she had wonderful things to say about herself,"

Thorvald laughed, "Just a bit." He turned to Kára, "But you were right about what you said earlier. It is fruitless to hunt when there isn't even enough to feed hungry wolves"

"I spotted berries and mushrooms we could eat," Kára stood up from the campfire and slapped her hands on her thighs to wipe off the ash. "I'll go get some. So _if_ the two come back without a hunt, they can at least replenish their energy with something."

"I'll come with you," Thorvald said, catching the redhead from surprise.

The girl looked over at Gunnr, who raised her eyebrows at her briefly. "Oh, you don't need to. It's not that far away from the camp."

"It's unwise to leave alone," he smiled gently as he picked up his scabbard with his sword. "Besides, Lagertha would have my head if three out of four of her shieldmaidens went missing on my watch."

Not wanting to waste precious daylight on arguing, Kára reluctantly agreed, and then led them towards the area where she spotted the berries. The two of them had a small chat about the area, but as painful as the small chat was, it didn't last very long, because like Kára said, it wasn't far away from camp. She pointed at the bush she spotted earlier and walked over to it, where more in the distance were shown. The two then began to pick them and place them on a cloth on the ground.

As the two remained in silence, Kára found comfort in concentrating on taking as many berries from the bush as possible, pretending she was alone. But alas, Thorvald was not going to rest easy in quiet work.

"I saw what you did in the training yard the other day," he spoke, causing Kára's fingers to freeze. "It was very impressive. Who taught you how to use a bow?"

"No one," she admitted. "I lived with my mother in the forest. She taught me the basics when I was old enough, but it was time, practice and necessity that made me where I am now."

"Lagertha did mention who your mother was," Thorvald admitted, which forced the girl to look at him curiously. He added, "I've never met Hulda the Red, but her name holds weight among Kattegat's locals."

"Now, not so much,"

Thorvald looked at her, "Must have been difficult being by yourself at such a young age."

There was a moment of pause, and then she spoke after a light shrug, "I wasn't alone... I had chickens."

**— — —**

By the time Kára and Thorvald went to the campsite, it was nearly dark, and Svana and Ljota had not returned yet. Just when the three of them were going to go look for them, the two shieldmaidens came into the clearing, and not even the darkness could hide the tired frustration on their faces. In Svana's grip she held an emaciated rabbit, and Kára was honestly surprised that she even found anything to begin with.

As the three munched on seeds, berries, and mushrooms, Svana stubbornly skinned the rabbit while Ljota was watching her with uncertainty. There was barely enough meat on the poor thing for one person, let alone two. Ljota turned to look at Kára, Thorvald and Gunnr with such a pitiful expression in her eyes.

Gunnr asked if she wanted a fire roasted potato. The girl immediately nodded and as she stood up, Svana gave her such a glare that it nearly made the girl sit back down if it weren't for the desperate growls of her stomach.

Kára sent a glance over at Thorvald, who also sent her a side glance at the silent spectacle around the campfire. As Svana attempted to salvage whatever protein she could from the animal, the redhead couldn't help herself from making a comment.

"Does the rabbit want something to eat? He's looking a bit famished."

Thorvald let out a loud snort and looked at Kára with a grin. Svana's glare was enough to set Kára's hair on fire, but the girl just sat there as she tossed nut after nut into her mouth in smug satisfaction.

**— — —**

The next day came with a blistering heat that forced the party to wake early. They packed their campsite, got back on their horses, and headed for the village. This time, Kára found herself leading their line with Thorvald, while Gunnr trailed in the middle, and Svana and Ljota were at the back. Everyone was quiet for the most part of the morning, but when the sun got higher in the sky, it was harder to keep going. Eventually they found a stream and took a moment to replenish their skins and let their horses drink.

Kára sat on a rock, cupping the water from the stream and splashed it over her face and running it over the back of her neck. In times like these, she missed short hair. When Ragnar had cut it all off that first time, it made her life a whole lot easier. However, Ragnar had started to call her 'boy' to get under her skin, and it worked. She stopped cutting her hair and grew it back, and in that moment she greatly regretted it.

She pulled out her dagger from her ankle strap and ran it through the water and then flipped her hair over her head as she bent over. With her other hand she started to part the section of hair nearest to her neck, but before she could cut her hair, she felt a presence behind her.

"Let me help you before you stab the back of your neck," she heard Thorvald.

Kára let out a sigh, "Thank you."

He took the dagger from her hand and she sat up, holding her hair over her face, save for the section she seperated. When she felt his fingers on her, she gave a slight jolt.

"Is everything fine?"

"No— I mean yes, sorry," Kára was now thankful for all her hair; if her face wasn't red enough before, it certainly was the shade of an apple at that moment.

"I'm going to cut the length first," he said, and she felt him tug at her locks into a handful and dragged the blade through it.

Already she felt weight lifted as the back of her head felt lighter. Kára closed her eyes and tried to relax her muscles under the smooth yet rough touch of Thorvald's fingers on the back of her neck. His touch was gentler than Ragnar's. The old man had pulled her hair and dragged the dagger across her scalp as if he was scalping her.

"Do you want to cut the rest?" She opened her eyes at his question, even though her vision was obstructed by the curtain of her hair.

"Uh, no, just the back. That's the worst part."

"Good," she could almost hear the smile in his voice. "Your hair is beautiful. It would've been a shame if you cut it off."

What was a deeper shade of red other than apple? Wine? Blood? Her hair? Her muscles tensed, and when she felt his skin graze hers again, goosebump rippled down her arms from her neck.

"Thanks..." she mumbled, but didn't say anything after.

It felt like forever, but he finally finished shaving off the base of her neck. With a final brush of his fingers, he gave her a pat on the head and stood up, "It's done."

Kára gave a sigh as she flipped her hair back behind her, "Thank you." She said, eyes trained to the stream, avidly avoiding looking at him. Her face was hotter than the air, so she allowed the gentle breeze to cool down her cheeks as she began braiding her hair from the top of her head until she was able to gather the rest into a high pony-tail and tied it tightly with a string of leather. Her undercut was already a huge relief as she felt the open air graze it. Kára tilted her head back and gave a great sigh of satisfaction, then sat up while slapping off stray hair off her legs.

When she turned around, she saw Thorvald had left the dagger on the rock next to her and had gone back to his things. He was bent over his travelling bag and ruffling through its contents. Kára looked at the back of his head, now realizing how pale his hair actually was. It was a common practice for their people to bleach their hair to get rid of lice (as Ragnar did to her) and for vanity reasons. It shocked her on some level that Thorvald was vain enough to bleach his hair, as if it mattered to him. Then Kára imagined herself running her fingers through those pale locks, wondering if it was smooth like his fingers, or rough like his voice.

"What are you looking at?" Gunnr appeared out of nowhere next to her, causing the redhead to jump in surprise and glare at the smug shieldmaiden.

**— — —**

The party had arrived at the village just before dusk. The villagers immediately spotted them walking down the path on five horses. Kára watched the small children scurry to their houses or behind their parents at the sight of strangers, but one of the elders had pointed at Thorvald and announced who it was. That was when everyone began to come out and greet them at the formal entrance of the village.

A man in his late 40's cut through the crowd of villages and came to Thorvald's horse, who dismounted and immediately shook the man's arm. Kára and the three other shieldmaidens dismounted shortly after and walked up to Thorvald's side.

"These must be Lagertha's shieldmaidens," the man smiled, his wrinkles reaching up to his kind eyes. "I am Hrut, the leader of Skuggabjorg. It is an honour and a blessing to meet all of you," he took each of the girl's hands into his in greeting before placing a weathered hand on Thorvald's arm. His smile faded as he continued, "We had another attack this morning. Poor Thorballa had her goats taken in the night. One of them was pregnant."

Thorvald looked over at the four girls before looking sadly over at the village leader, "Take us to the scene, before the light's out."

The man nodded and guided them through the crowd of people over to a small hut on the far east of the village. There was a coop of chickens, but an empty yard that was intended for goats. When we got to the area, Hrut stood at the fence and pointed over at the obvious paw prints in the mud. They were larger than a dog's, Kára noted, but she also noted they seemed smaller than full grown wolves.

As Hrut began to describe what had happened with Thorballa in the morning, Kára walked around the fenced area until she got to the gate. Thorvald looked over at her, and then at the gate, noticing there was a latch lock on it.

"Where is Thorballa?" Thorvald asked, and Hrut looked over at the hut and saw the very woman approaching her home. Her hands were fidgeting with a rag in her fingers, her face was pale and gaunt. She was a thin woman, not very old, but her state made her look older. She had bags under her eyes, lips were dry, and there were lines on her forehead. When she realized everyone was looking at her, her head bowed.

"I'm- I'm sorry to interrupt..."

Thorvald turned to her and walked up to her side, "You have nothing to be sorry for. But I would like to ask you a few questions."

"I didn't see them," she immediately said, "I- I slept in. I was so tired. My young ones were up all night, crying."

"Thorballa has young twin sons, and a daughter," Hrut added.

"You work the farm by yourself, Thorballa?" Thorvald asked.

She sighed sadly and nodded, "My husband and my brother used to live with me, but the two of them left for Kattegat to do trade when summer began. I haven't seen them since, and I do not know what happened to them."

Thorvald nodded and turned back to the woman, "Thorballa, was the gate closed when you woke up to check on your animals?"

Kára listened intently as she stood next to the gate and looked at the imprints in the enclosure. Thorballa said that the gate was closed when she came to feed the animals. When asked what she did, she said that she asked her neighbours if anyone saw her goats, in case they had somehow escaped. It was when her daughter pointed out the canine prints in the mud that Thorballa realized that the goats were taken by the same wolves that were terrorizing the village.

"Did anyone go inside here after?" Kára asked, pointing at the enclosure.

Thorballa shook her head, "Hrut didn't want the prints to be disturbed."

Kára opened her mouth to speak, but Svana, who had been silent until now, began to speak. "These must be large wolves," she crossed her arms as she looked inside the enclosure and back at the woman. "The gate was closed, and they were able to get over it, and take out full grown goats over the fence? I see how everyone believes they are gods."

This observation made the woman pale even more, "Do you... do you think they're Fenrir's brood?"

Svana opened her mouth to speak, but it was Kára's time to interrupt.

"No," she said flatly and then looked at Thorvald. "Can you come here for a moment?"

Thorvald excused himself from the woman and Hrut, and then walked over to Kára. Svana sent a side glance at Kára before walking over to the woman to ask more questions, followed shortly by the three other shieldmaidens.

"What is it?" Thorvald asked when he reached Kára's side. He leaned against the fence and looked at her intently.

"Those tracks," she nodded to the paw prints in the mud, "They are too small to be wolves. They wouldn't be big enough to jump over the fence with livestock. There are no track marks of dragging the carcasses either. But those tracks- they track in and out of the gate. Someone opened the gate for them."

"You think someone is stealing livestock? Wouldn't it be obvious if someone was stealing animals in the village?"

"There is no game in the forest," Kára pointed out looking at him. "Whoever is stealing the animals lives outside of the village."

Thorvald's lips turned into a thin line as he straightened up and he walked over to Thorballa and Hrut. Thorvald decided not to say anything about Kára's hunch to either of them, not until they knew what they were dealing with. He smiled at Hrut and said something about sleeping accommodations, since the sun began to set. Hrut smiled and gestured over to the other end of the village.

The group followed the village leader over to Hrut's farm house next to his longhouse. He explained that he had cleaned it out and made it fit for people to sleep in. Hrut offered them bread and salted pork to eat, and left the farm to talk to Thorvald. Once they were alone, Svana immediately started to complain about having to sleep in a farm next to their horses.

"Did you expect to be sleeping in a castle?" Gunnr asked as she threw her stuff next to her claimed cot.

"I expected a real bed, at least, considering what we're doing for them," Svana sighed and Ljota agreed.

She was lucky Thorvald was still outside, otherwise he would have said something about those remarks. Kára remained quiet though, and tended to her horse. Hrut had said there were six available cots in the farm, three on the ground floor, and two above. Svana, Gunnr and Ljota had already claimed the three on the bottom, leaving Kára having to climb the side of the barn to reach the top level. The ceiling was low, so she had to crouch to reach one of the cots. It was clearly one of the less comfortable places to sleep, but Kára was used to such accommodations. She's slept in a chicken coop, for Odin's sake.

Kára shedded her jerkin until she was down to a tunic and collapsed in the cot. She left the furs, since it was humid in the farm. She was so exhausted, that the simple act of laying down was enough for her to pass out. After a few moments of fighting against a cluster of thoughts, she heard heavy footsteps climbing up the farm and falling on the wooden floor. Kára opened an eye and saw Thorvald's large form folded in half as he tried to move over to the other cot. Immediately she shut her eyes, and pretended to be asleep, but Thorvald was a head of her.

"I know you're awake," he whispered as he sat on his cot and pulled off his boots.

"Mmm... No I'm not," she replied stubbornly.

She heard the creak of the cot and a groan as he stretched out his long body. Once Thorvald was settled, he turned to look at Kára's shadowed form.

"I told Hrut what you said," his words made Kára open her eyes and stare into the dark. "He said he's never had any forest dwellers for years."

"That doesn't mean there aren't any," she spoke. "They could have travelled closer to the village to find food."

"I know," he replied. There was a pause before he spoke again, "Why were you and your mother banned from Kattegat?"

The question took her completely off guard, Kára had no choice but to roll over and look at him, holding herself on her elbows. "What?"

"Lagertha mentioned that you and Hulda were expelled from Kattegat, but never told me why," Thorvald confessed. "Did you murder someone?"

Kára sighed and collapsed on her back, looking up at the low ceiling. "Almost," she replied in a small voice. The memory was still fresh in her mind, despite the fact she had tried to not to think about what happened at the tree. She felt a tightness in her chest that she tried to swallow it down. "I was close friends with Queen Aslaug's youngest son, Ivar. Ivar the Boneless."

"The cripple?"

"That's the one," she continued. "My mother was working on healing his legs; they were getting stronger, and he was getting braver. One day he asked me to take him up our favourite tree, because he wanted to see what it looked like to be tall. I carried him up the tree, and we sat on a branch and watched the horizon. Eventually, the branch broke, and we fell. Ivar's head slapped against a rock and I landed on him. He was unconscious, so I carried him back to the long house. I did not know if he was alive or not. When Aslaug saw him, she screamed at both me and mother, and banned us from Kattegat. The only thing I heard about what happened to him was he survived, but that is it."

Kára didn't realize it until she was finished that she was crying at the memory. The sound of Aslaug's voice pierced into her heart and soul. She did learn through the grapevine that Ivar survived, but he never came back to Hulda's hut at all. Even if Aslaug banned him from coming, Kára knew Ivar would have come behind his mother's back anyway. But, he hadn't, which could only mean that Ivar resented Kára and blamed the fall on her.

Kára blinked in surprise when she felt Thorvald's finger brush the side of her eye, wiping off the tears that had fallen to her temples. She turned to look at him with her mouth open. Despite the low light, it was enough to make his pale hair glow in the darkness and the glossiness of her eyes reflect the dim light.

"You loved him," it wasn't a question, it was a statement. The third thing that Thorvald said or did that caught her off guard that night. She turned back to the ceiling to allow those words to mull over in her mind.

"It doesn't matter," she sniffed, and wiped her eyes with the sleeve of her tunic. "I will never see him again."

"That's not true," Thorvald spoke. "We all will see each other again in the next life."

Kára gave a nihilistic snort, "If there is one."

"There is. I know it."

"You know it?" Kára rolled her head to look at him. "How could you possibly _know_ it?"

He smiled, and now it was his turn to look up at the ceiling, "I was just a boy when I saw my father get killed in a raid in our village. Me and my mother came out from our hiding spot once the raiders were slaughtered. I walked through the carnage of bodies, and saw my father. I remember running to him, but tripping over a rock in the process. When I got up, I saw _her_. A valkyrie. She was crouching next to my father's body, and turned to look at me. She was beautiful, but large. Her legs were as long as I was tall. A crown of gold and feathers adorned her head, and had long flowing white and blue silks covered her body. Eyes like the sea, and hair like a halo of fire that reached her feet. She smiled at me before reaching down and taking my father's hand. Then... I blinked, and she was gone."

Thorvald rolled his head to look at Kára, who was speechless. She stared at him with wide eyes, filled with an indescribable emotion.

"That's how I know we will all meet again. Death is not the end, but the beginning of the next life."

Kára remained silent at his words as she turned away from him to look at the ceiling. She felt her heart beat thumping in her chest wildly and uncomfortably, like battle drums in her head. A vision of a giantess hovering over a lake, and a pair of blue eyes across a battlefield flashed in her mind. Kára shut her eyes tightly, and rubbed her forehead as the drums got louder.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to thank you all from the bottom of my heart at the amount of reception and feedback I got for this story on all my platforms. It really blew my mind how much this story picked up after the last few chapters. It truly motivates me to see that people are actually reading and enjoying my writing, which is why this chapter is so long. I'm excited for everyone to read chapter seventeen, since it has come to be one of my favourites since Blood Moon. A lot of things happen in it. 
> 
> Also! As a gift for all of you, I have a pinterest with all pictures of characters and things. They're all sectioned out by chapters of 3, and categories, to avoid spoilers. But be mindful of you caught up on the chapters in the sections, if you want to avoid spoilers. Due to Pinterest's really bad formating system, if you click on the image to read the description by me, it should be under the title of the image, or at the very bottom next to my name. 
> 
> pinterest.ca/Catherine_Braganza
> 
> Or simply search for catherine_braganza on pinterest.
> 
> Happy readings, and stay safe everyone xoxox


	18. 17: the wolf den

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Svana and Ljota go off to hunt down the wolf themselves, forcing Kara to track them down before they run into something they're not prepared for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ** Important Note **
> 
> I am super floored and appreciative over the reception of my story. It's really humbling. I hope everyone is doing well and keeping safe. The pandemic has really burnt me out, because I am an essential worker, and haven't taken a single day off, working five days a week, since it was officially announced. That is why it took so long for me to publish this. Just, a lot happened in a short amount of time, and I spent most of my free time vegetating.
> 
> The story will be considered Mature after this point on. There is a trigger warning that you will see underneath the title banner. If you do not wish to read the chapter due to this TW's, there is a chapter synopsis provided at the very bottom of the chapter that will summarize all that happened in this chapter. I will be doing this for every chapters that have a heavy theme of specific graphic content. 
> 
> There is also a short lemon scene in this chapter, which I have marked where it will begin and where it will end for those that just want to skip that part of the story.

Trigger Warnings: _**Graphic violence, descriptions of blood and gore, and sexual themes.**_

After breaking fast the next day, Thorvald and the shieldmaidens got to work with aiding the village in making fortifications on their livestock enclosures, as well as creating traps in key points. Kára was helping a chicken farmer with reinforcing his coops when Thorvald walked up to her.

"Make sure the panels are all secure," she directed the farmer's young son. She wiped her brow with the back of hand, fingers still gripping the hilt of a hammer. It was hotter that day than it was the day before, but she suspected it was because they were now in an open field with no trees to shade them.

"Good work," Thorvald said when he approached the farm and looked over the fortifications of the farmer's property. "Do you have experience in this sort of thing?"

Kára gave a laugh, catching the ranger off guard. He lifted an eyebrow at her, and she shook her head, "It's a long story."

"Sounds like an amusing one," he observed. "Perhaps you'll tell me someday?"

"Perhaps on our way back home," she turned around and walked over to the table of tools, which was situated farther away from the labouring civilians.

Thorvald followed shortly behind her, and once he was out of earshot of the others, his tone became serious. "Hrut doesn't want anyone to know that the attacks may be by someone rather than something," he started.

"He should," Kára sighed, "We're wasting resources and time making traps for _animals_."

"We still don't have proof that it's not an animal. There were no men's prints in the soil."

"Just because there are no prints, does not mean there is no trail. We have to follow the wolf tracks into the forest to see where it leads."

"Svana had the same thoughts," Thorvald said, looking over at the blonde across the field on the other side of the wheat farm. She was planting bear traps around the property. She wasn't too thrilled with wasting time on the farms, either. And Ljota agreed with her, but there was no surprise there. "I told her we need to finish here before leaving the village. We can go first light on the morrow."

"Have you told them that we may be hunting a man?" Kára asked, looking over at Svana as well.

Thorvald shook his head, "No. I will when we retire for the night, when we are alone, so we can strategize our plan."

Kára nodded, but remained quiet. She was not used to working with other people; it was always just her. She was the one that strategized her plans and executed it by herself. She worked as a lone wolf her whole life, and upon entering the world of sisterhood that was the shieldmaidens, Kára was taken off guard how much she needed to rely on her sisters in arms.

In her opinion, if this was an issue of wolves, the situation could be resolved with a hunting party, not a team of shieldmaidens. Which led Kára to believe that Lagertha and Thorvald were already in some kind of prior knowledge that this could possibly be an attack by a non-animal before they recruited shieldmaidens.

Come to think of it, there had to be a reason why Lagertha chose the girls she did. The four shieldmaidens did have contrasting talents they excelled at. Svana was obviously a good archer, Ljota was swift and agile, Gunnr had brutish strength, and Kára... Well, Kára was the only experienced hunter, which meant she was best at tracking. If Thorvald was positive that there were wolves in the forest, he would have requested a team of Hedeby's best hunters, not shieldmaidens. That meant he already suspected the attacks might not be the cause of wolves, or at least wanted to prepare for the possibility. The diverse party of shieldmaidens were chosen specifically to utilize all talents in case of all possible outcomes. If it was a single person Svana and Ljota would be able to take him down with ease. If it was more than one person, Gunnr and Thorvald would be able to serve as the brute force for battle.

And Kára was the key in finding the antagonist, be it man or beast, and therefore be able to identify who it really is. Thorvald and Lagertha must have been counting on her in deducing the threat before action was taken place. Judging by the evidence and tracks that were left behind, even Thorvald, an experienced ranger, was having a hard time figuring out what or who was attacking the village.

Upon this realization, Kára stopped what she was doing and turned to Thorvald silently. He had his hands on his hips and his eyes narrowed as he peered into the forest in the distance. He appeared to be deep in thought, which somehow confirmed Kára's epiphany, but she wasn't going to say it, not now at least.

**X X X**

Svana wiped off her forehead and stood up after placing the bear trap in place. She had a permanent frown on her face since the moment she woke up. When she learned that they would be creating traps on the local's properties instead of going out in the forest to hunt down these wolves, Svana nearly protested against Thorvald's wishes.

Svana had always fancied Thorvald ever since before she had her first bleed, which was not uncommon to most of the women of Hedeby who've met Thorvald. However, Svana's advantage was that she came from a respected family line, she was talented, and one of Lagertha's favourites. Thorvald came back to Hedeby regularly to bring news to Lagertha where her shieldmaidens may be needed, and Svana had been patiently waiting for that day where she would be chosen to go with the ranger for one of those quests. It finally came, but much to her chagrin, she was being overshadowed.

Her eyes wandered over to across the field where she could spot Kára's obnoxious orange head quite easily. Thorvald was talking to her, and while Svana couldn't hear what was being said, she had a guess as to what. Ever since the first night, Thorvald and Kára had been going ahead of everyone, blatantly flirting with each other. She heard them talking in hush voices during last night, probably doing more than just speaking. It made Svana's blood boil. She put too much work and time into being where she is today just for some outsider to come and swoop in on her territory. Svana heard that Kára's mother was a witch, which would explain how easily she was able to snare Thorvald's attention.

Growling, Svana wiped her hands with a dirty cloth and began marching out of the field towards the farm they were residing. Ljota, always hot on her heels, followed behind her after.

"Svana, where are you going? We're not done here."

"This is a waste of time," she barked. "We should have tracked down the wolves long ago if we left this morning. We wouldn't be using up resources and time out here putting in useless traps."

"But Thorvald advised we should go on the morrow after preparing-"

"I _am_ prepared! I've been prepared since we left Hedeby!" They reached the barn and just before she opened the door, she turned to her friend. "Thorvald, Gunnr, and that red headed witch can waste their time fortifying chicken coops and goat dens, but I won't. I'm going to hunt down those wolves. Are you coming with me, or are you gonna sit around twiddling your thumbs, too?"

Ljota looked apprehensive at this. She looked around at the village, alive with people preparing for another possible attack, which she admitted would not be necessary if they had got rid of the problem that day. She also knew Svana for quite some time, and the girl had always impressed her at how head strong and determined she was. Svana always saw a job to a swift completion, which always exceeded everyone's expectations. Svana had always been right, until recently. Ljota wagered it was because of what Kára had done in the training yard the other day. It had shook her friend, and perhaps that is why Svana was trying so hard to show her competence, even more now that Thorvald was present.

Ljota pursed her lips at her old friend, not sure if this was a good idea, but there was that part of her that ignored those red flags of Svana's behaviour as of late. And should she say no, and something ended up happening to her, Ljota would never forgive herself knowing she could have prevented it.

"I'm coming with you," Ljota decided. "We will be the only two to come back to Hedeby with wolf pelts."

Svana smiled wickedly and clapped her friend on the shoulder, "Not just any old wolf, Ljota. But god wolves."

**X X X**

Kára was splashing her face with water from a barrel that sat next to the barn. She dunked her hands in and cupped them to pour water on the back of her neck. It had been a long day, but now that the sun was lowering, people had begun to wrap up their work. Gunnr came up next to her while she was pushing hair out of her face.

"Hrut invited us to sup at his house," she replied. "Tell Ljota and Svana."

"They're not in there," Kára spoke as she pulled her ponytail tighter.

Gunnr looked confused, "Are you sure? Because I couldn't find them in the village."

The two of them looked at each other for a moment before both turning to open the farm door and looking inside. Gunnr called out their names, thinking they may have passed out in a bale of hay, but there was no answer.

"That's odd," Gunnr said.

Kára looked over at the cots and pursed her lips, "No it isn't. Their effects are gone."

Gunnr bit her lip and cursed under her breath, "I'll go get Thorvald."

Kára bounded in the barn where she left her things and began to gear up, "I'll go ahead. Tell him I'm following the tracks from Thorballa's."

"You can't go out there alone, it's dusk. What are you going to do when you encounter a den of giant wolves?"

Kára turned towards her on her way out, and gave her a half smile, "I am Kára _Ulfsdóttir._ I'll be right at home." She gave her a pat on the arm before taking off at a light jog towards Thorballa's farm house.

When she got there, she noticed that there were new tracks in the area. Hrut made it a point that no one disturb the earth around, but there were obvious human tracks that followed the direction of the canine tracks. The footprints were slender, and there were two sets of tracks. Of course Ljota would follow her.

Kára looked over at the setting sun, and then back at the forest. Sighing, she skipped over the tracks and followed them to the woods, hoping she found the two shieldmaidens before anything or anyone else did.

**X X X**

"This way," Svana directed as the tracks lead them further into the forest. "They're heading south. I think we're close."

_You said that an hour ago,_ Ljota wanted to say, but she bit her tongue. They had been following these tracks for a while, but Ljota was starting to believe they were going in circles. At a certain point, Svana lost track of them and started to rely on moss on the trees to direct them to their original position, but Ljota had noticed that a lot of the trees had moss on all sides. Now, they were losing light, which would make seeing the tracks even harder.

"Maybe we should turn back," Ljota gently suggested as she crawled over a fallen tree.

Svana was crouched next to another tree, holding a stick and poking at something at the ground. When Ljota got to her, she noticed she was cutting apart a pile of scat; wolf scat. Ljota didn't know whether or not to be relieved or dismayed.

"It's fresh. They should be close," Svana smiled and pulled out her bow, preparing herself for the best hunt of her life. "This way," she jogged further south.

Ljota sighed through her nose and pulled out her own bow and followed shortly behind. She couldn't help but feel this uncomfortable knot in her stomach like something was wrong. "Svana," she called as she followed shortly behind. "We should mark the area and head back to Thorvald and the others. We shouldn't do this alone-"

Ljota stopped when she saw that Svana came to a complete halt. She came behind her and looked at what she was staring at. There was a wall of stone that crossed their path, covered in thick tree roots and shrubs, but hidden in the elbow of the structure was a large opening. It could have been missed, had the shrubbery grew thicker around it, but with the heat, the greenery was more brittle and sparse. There were no more tracks, since the ground was covered in leaves, branches and grass, but the cave appeared to be cleared of debris, indicating that it's been used frequently.

"This is it," Svana whispered as she took her bow and knocked it with an arrow. "This is the den," she looked over her shoulder at Ljota. "When I give you the signal, make noise to coax them out, and I'll shoot them before they get to you. Get ready."

Ljota tried to swallow the lump in her throat, then nodded at Svana, and knocked her own arrow, should she need it. With her eyes trained on the den, she watched the blonde in her peripherals move closer to the wall. Just as she got within three metres to it, a loud cracking sound interrupted the silence, and suddenly in a swift motion that Ljota couldn't properly register, Svana was swept off her feet, with her bow and arrows falling onto the ground.

Svana made a loud yelp of surprise as she hung upside down from her ankle, suspended at ten feet above the ground. Ljota was so surprised by what happened, her eyes were now on Svana as an instant reaction. This, as she would soon learn, was a mistake.

**X X X**

Kára was primarily following the footsteps of Svana and Ljota, who had diverged quite a few times from the canine tracks. They obviously got lost, which they wouldn't have if they had a proper tracker, which is what Kára was in this group. By now the sun had almost completely set, giving only just a small amount of light to give off some shadows. By now Gunnr would have alerted Thorvald, and the two would have gone after Kára, but she wondered if they would take the same detour that she had tried to track her, or followed the canine tracks in hopes that that's where they'd be.

Suddenly a loud shriek broke the silence of the forest, making Kára's skin ripple with goosebumps and the blood drain from her body. This was not a fox's scream, it was a human scream. A woman's. Kára put her hand on her belt where the hilt of her dagger was and rushed into a sprint, moving through the forest ground with familiar ease. The more she ran towards the direction of the scream, the more sounds could be heard. Screams, pleading, crying, growling, snapping, snarling. Kára's heart pumped louder and louder in her head with the sound of her desperate breathing.

" _HELP! SOMEONE HELP! THORVALD, HELP!_ _ **SOMEONE!**_ "

Kára quickly pulled out her bow and fisted a handful of arrows. She hopped on a fallen tree and launched herself in the air and into the clearing. The first thing she saw was blonde hair being snapped at by a trio of growling wolfdogs. She pursed her lips and whistled loudly, getting the wolfdogs' attention. When their heads turned was when Kára shot her first arrow before hitting the ground, successfully getting one between the eyes. She fell into a barrel roll, and quickly knocked another arrow and hit another wolfdog in the chest as he made a leap in her direction. The third was now on her soon after, and she quickly reached for her dagger in time for the animal to jump on her. She put the arm of her bow between his snapping jaws before it could reach her throat. Kára twisted her face as the animal's drool hit her eyes and face, all the while struggling under his weight and muscles. She wrestled with the animal for a moment before she could have the opportunity to raise her arm with the dagger and sink it into his throat. With a short yelp, she could feel the wolfdog tense and relax in his last moments of life. His body laid limp on top of her.

With a grunt, Kára shoved the animal off of her and began to inhale and exhale feverishly. She pulled herself up on her elbows and then slowly raised onto her feet, her body feeling like a sack of rocks at this point.

"Kára! Thank the gods," she heard Svana cry out as she dangled from above.

"Mind your head," Kára spoke, as she tossed her now broken bow and grabbed Svana's fallen one and an arrow. "I'm going to let you down."

Svana covered her head and braced herself to be dropped. Kára loosed an arrow, successfully cutting the rope. Svana allowed her body to go limp as it fell, while covering her head in an attempt to reduce damage on her body. It still hurt when she hit the hard ground, but after what she just saw, the pain was secondary on her mind.

Kára rushed to her side and bent down, "Where is Ljota?"

At the name, Svana's face twisted in pain and she crumpled onto the floor, her face buried in the dirt in shame. She was crying something that Kára couldn't quite make out, but by her reaction, it wasn't good. The blonde began to lift her trembling hand in the direction behind her, and that was when Kára became aware of her surroundings.

They were surrounded in utter carnage; aside from the three bodies of the wolfdogs that laid at her feet, there was blood everywhere. Kára's hand went up to her mouth in shock as she saw the mangled and pulled apart body of her fellow shieldmaiden; her sister in arms. Her chest was completely torn open, and the bottom half of her body was pulled apart and completely dismembered from her torso. The only thing remotely human left of her was her pale face, frozen in fear and pain in her last moments of life.

Kára tore her eyes away from the scene and hunched over and began to vomit until she was only heaving. Svana cried profusely next to her, her body crumpled on the floor. They stayed like that for some time, as the reality of their surroundings overcame their minds and hearts. Not even Kára had seen such butchery, not to that agree, even if it was by an animal.

These were not wolves. These were wolfdogs, trained to attack, not to defend. No wolf would have caused this amount of indiscriminate bloodshed even if it was trying to protect their cubs. Had these animals been loose in the village when children were free to roam, it would have been over. Kára didn't want to think about that possibility; she kept on telling herself that won't happen anymore, now that they were dead. But there was still one last matter to be dealt with, and that was the owner. The man behind it all.

Kára didn't know how long she stayed hunched over, but she became aware of something, and that was the silence. Svana had stopped crying hysterically. Her muscles tensed at this. The hair on the back of her neck stood on end, and her fingers twitched once the adrenaline began pumping again; the need to survive tripled. Her eyes flickered over to the wolf she stabbed, her dagger protruding from his neck right next to her. In a flash, she reached for it and flipped over, but immediately froze at what she saw.

"Don't. Move." He spoke.

**X X X**

Thorvald, Gunnr and Hrut had rushed into the forest the moment Gunnr found him and relayed the news. He was fueled with anger and worry, especially after Gunnr had said that Kára went on alone to find them first. A completely idiotic choice for all three of the shieldmaidens. None of them should have gone without back up and a proper plan.

Hrut volunteered to come immediately after hearing what happened. Thorvald only agreed because he knew the woods better than he. There were obvious human tracks in the forest, which for a moment went in circles. Thorvald strayed from the tracks to follow the canine tracks that came from Thorballa's farm. Hrut had an idea where these tracks were leading, and had suggested a shortcut. Gunnr and Thorvald followed Hrut's guide, finding themselves climbing up a steep hill where the trees became thicker and less condensed.

"There is a rock formation not far from here," Hrut explained. "There's a cave there, back in the day the kids would play in. Thorballa, her brother, and the rest of the village kids would camp in it for a night or two during the summer days."

"You think it's a wolf's den?" Thorvald asked.

"To my knowledge, it's been empty for some time. No one will allow their kids in this area anymore, especially now with the threat of wolves. It's larger inside than it looks. The cave has a back entrance, it should be somewhere here."

It didn't take long to find it. It was a narrow space between rocks, easily hidden if one didn't know how to find it. Hrut was about to lead them through, but Thorvald told him to get between him and Gunnr, should they find something inside. They pressed their bodies against the wall and shimmied through the cave, with Thorvald and Hrut having to duck their heads at the low ceiling. Eventually the narrow hallway began to widen, and the dim light of a fire could be seen at the end of it.

"The cavern must be near," Hrut whispered.

Thorvald still had his back pressed against the wall, given his wide frame couldn't fit through the passageway still, but the stone hall widened more as the light came closer, and closer. As the light grew stronger, so did a putrid smell that he immediately recognized as the stench of death and decay.

The three collectively made an audible sound of disgust and covered their mouths. Gunnr pulled her tunic over her nose, "What is that?"

Thorvald's lips were in a firm line as they at last approached the cavern. It was bigger than it looked like from the outside, about the size of a reasonable hut, but not bigger than other caverns that Thorvald had found in the past. Though it was big enough to make a home for some _one_. The place was lived in; there was a bed of furs, a hearth that was situated under the one opening of the cavern on the roof. The hearth was dim, but it lit up the cavern bright enough for everyone to see what was inside, and where the stench came from.

Carcasses everywhere. Blood everywhere. Bones picked clean were piled in a heap near a bed of hay, dead grass and leaves. An obviously a resting place for the wolves or hounds that lived here with their owner. Immediately Thorvald spotted the goats that had been stolen the other day, butchered on a wooden table, being prepared to be cooked. But what shocked everyone the most, even Thorvald, was the main source of the smell.

"Is that?" Gunnr spoke from behind him, squinting in the dim orange light at the form laying on the bed of furs.

"A body," Thorvald pulled out a piece of cloth from his belt and tied it around his mouth as he approached the bed. The body laid in filth, and had been decaying for some time. This body was far beyond the first moments of decay; it was now in advance decay. All that was left was skin, bones, hair, and maggots. The eyeless face was sunken, aside some holes created by the feasting insects, it was otherwise intact.

"This has been here for over a month, at the very least," Thorvald examined the clothes, at least what was left of it. It was a man; that was clear since he wore no shirt, and his chest was exposed, where he could see a large wound where his heart was. His pants were rags, and he was barefooted. "No signs of teeth marks, so the wolves didn't try to eat his body."

"So they were trained?"

"Even trained dogs will eat their owner's body if they are starving," Thorvald turned around to the others. "Someone was protecting the body."

Hrut remained as far away from the body as possible, but when he snuck a peak at it, the fire glinted on something silver around the dead man's wrist. It was an armring. He took a rag in his back pocket and pressed it to his mouth and nose as he slowly approached the body, and once he was close enough, he could see the shape of the arm ring. He's seen that design before. He knew it well. Slowly, the old man looked up to the face, holding his breath as he embraced the possibility of the worst.

"Oh, Freya, preserve us," Hrut immediately shut his eyes, turned away and went to brace himself on the wall. Despite its state, he could see the man underneath the decay. His body shuddered, and for the first time since he was a boy, he felt the sting of tears in his old eyes.

"That's Jorund. Thorballa's husband."

**X X X**

"You _killed_ my thildren," The man hissed with a lisp through his crooked teeth, or what was left of it.

"Your _children_ killed my sister," Kára barked back. The man still held onto Svana with a crude looking knife to her throat. He was rather short for a man for his presumed age, with muddy hair that could have been blonde at some point. It was strangely and dreaded, with debris stuck in its tendrils. His face was just as dirty, right down to his lips, and his teeth were brown with decay and gums red with bloody sores. He was wearing a sweaty tunic that was obviously worn to death, and trousers that were being held up by a frayed rope. But what Kára immediately noticed were his shoes. It was the middle of summer, but his feet were covered in sheep's wool, even underneath. That was how he was able to hide his tracks this entire time, and why he was able to approach without making a sound. Kára would have applauded him for being clever, but right now all she wanted to do was rip his head off of his shoulders.

"They were jutht _babieth_!" He growled, jerking around Svana in frustration. His blood shot eyes were watery. "And you thlaughtered them..."

Svana flinched, feeling the stick of the rusty knife tug into her neck, "Stop pissing him off, Red!"

"All right, all right, I am sorry," Kára raised her arms in a show of surrender. "I was defending my family. I am sure you would do the same."

"I _am_ doing the thame," he replied with a curled lip. "An eye for an eye." He made a motion with his knife arm, intending to slice open the blonde's neck.

"Wait, wait!" Kára shouted. "If you do that, then you know I will have to kill you, too. As you said, an eye for an eye."

The man twisted his face at that, his eyes spilling an onslaught of tears. Hysterically he shouted, spit spraying everywhere as he did, "Kill me! I welcome death!" Kára watched the moment his fingers became loose around the knife as his breakdown resumed. With a crackling voice, he continued, "I am alone now. My thildren are gone... My love ith gone... I have nothing to live for."

Kára glanced at Svana, who looked down at the man's hand and back at her shield sister. The blonde's blue eyes widened and shifted over to a rock near her. Her lips moved, mouthing the words "keep talking."

"Uh," Kára scrambled. "Listen... You're not alone. My name is Kára; I'm a shield maiden from Hedeby. This is Svana, my shield sister. What's your name?"

He narrowed his eyes at her, his lips curled in a snarl, "You do not care who I am. No one careth about me! Only _he_ did!"

"Hey, look at me," Kára bowed a little bit so she could catch his eye. Her hands were still up in the air. "I know how you feel."

"No you don't! How could you? You're a _thhieldmaiden_... I am jutht... _no one_."

"I wasn't always a shieldmaiden. I grew up alone with my mother in the forest... No one knew who I was, for the longest time. My mother was the only person that cared about me... not until I met someone else... someone who I cared for, and who cared for me. Just like you, and your love. You miss him... I miss my friend, too, very dearly, but I won't ever see him again. I understand your pain."

By now he was crying profusely, and Kára was slowly walking towards him with her arms in the air. His grip on the knife was now loose and nearly forgotten. His eyes were nearly closed as his tears and hysterics overcame him.

"I mithth him, tho muth," he cried.

"I know you do," Kára crept closer. "Why don't we sit down and you can tell us all about him."

It took a moment, but Kára watched the realization of what was happening dawned on his face. However, his reaction wasn't fast enough now that his senses were hindered by raw emotion. Before he could move back into an offensive position, Svana grabbed his hand and bit it, causing him to scream and drop the knife. Kára quickly picked up the rock and cracked it across his face, sending him flying to the ground. Unfortunately, it did not have the desired effect of rendering him unconscious. It instead made most of his remaining teeth break off, and his nose break so badly it pointed in the other direction. The girls scrambled to find things to protect themselves as he slowly began to pull himself on his feet, his face so red it even glowed in the dark of the night. The false light of the moon reflected against his wet eyes, highlighting the madness behind them.

Kára reached for her dagger that was left in the wolfdog's throat, and Svana scrambled to get her bow and an arrow off the ground, but fumbled to knock it. She wasn't fast enough.

"You lying _**whore!**_ "

The mad man screamed as he charged at them, bloody mouth agape, and eyes ablaze with tears and rage. He had gotten within feet of them, and just when Kára prepared her body for a rush attack, an axe came from the side and swung with such force and precision, it cut the man's head clean off. Blood splattered across Kára and Svana's face, forcing them to cover their eyes and turn away. It all felt like time had slowed down in those moments, and all she could hear was her heart beat in her head, and the echo of the man's raging scream.

When sound came back to her, Kára wiped the blood from her eyes and looked to see the broad and tall figure of Thorvald. His jawline was hard and his mouth in a straight line, and his face was covered with blood, tinting his light hair that framed it. His eyes were alight with a rage, too, but unlike the mad man's, it wasn't lined with insanity. Then, those eyes were on her, and the anger remained.

"What. In Hel's name. Were you two. Doing?!"

Kára and Svana swallowed simultaneously, but the former spoke for them both.

"Hunting wolves."

**X X X**

While the rest of the night felt like a blur, it also was the longest night of Kára's life. After the dust was settled, the man was identified by Hrut as Torfi, Thorballa's brother. It had become clear after information was shared what was going on here. Thorballa's husband, Jorund was murdered, according to Thorvald's deduction of the cause of his death. He was stabbed in the heart some time ago, possibly around the time they left the village. According to Torfi, Jorund was his 'love', but they had no proof if the feelings were mutual. However, Hrut had said it was possible, as he knew Jorund to be a strange boy, particularly around his male companions.

Kára wondered if they had went to this cave, specifically to have sex before returning to thier journey to trade in Kattetgat, and Torfi found the abandoned pups in the den. That the cause of him murdering Jorund was that he refused to stay with him and raise them like a family, since Jorund had a family of his own. She will never know the truth of it all, but perhaps it was for the best.

What was decided before they returned to the village was to fabricate what had happened there. They decided to tell the village they had fought the wolf, and bring back the carcass of one of the wolves with them, and not mention anything about a man in the forest. The first thing they did was put Torfi's body in the cave next to Jormund, and sealed the entrance and exit with rocks and clay, so no one could find them. Then, when the sun rose, they turned to Ljota's mangled form, and prepared her burial.

They chose a willow tree next to a babbling brook, and buried her with the two other wolves. After, they lined her grave with white stones in the shape of a boat, and decorated the mound in wildflowers. She was buried with her sword and shield, but the necklace she wore was removed, with the intention of returning it to her remaining family.

As morning came, their state of dress became apparent. They all smelt like death and were caked in dirt and blood. Kára desperately wanted to cleanse her skin of all that happened, so she went off alone, following the brook until it ended at a small waterfall that fell into a wide spring. Without thinking, Kára stripped off her clothes and slowly walked into the water. The sensation of the cold water felt nothing to her nerves, even to the contrast of the humidity. She fully submerged herself in the water, and stayed under the surface for some time, as the events of that night replayed in her mind like a bad dream.

' _I miss my friend, too, very dearly, but I won't ever see him again.'_

' _but I won't ever see him again.'_

' _... won't ever see him again.'_

Kára jumped back to the surface and gasped for air. Breathing hard, she wiped at her lashes to free them of water, and that's when she realized she wasn't alone. Thorvald sat on a rock, bare chested and untying his boots. He looked just as surprised as she was when she came to the surface.

"Oh, sorry," he muttered. "I didn't realize you were here."

Kára was still breathing hard through her mouth as she stared at him openly. His chest was lightly covered in dark blonde hair, right down to the line below his belly button. He was dirty with sweat and earth, but that only served in his favour. He was glorious, especially how the sun caused the sweat on his body to glisten like oil. Kára ran a hand over her mouth and began to climb out of the spring and walk over to him, completely nude. This had taken Thorvald further by surprise. His mouth opened as he leaned back on his hand and looked up to her. His lips were parted, but nothing but air came from it. His chest rose and fell as much as hers. Neither of them spoke a word, but knew the moment their eyes met.

**\- Short Lemon Scene Begins -**

Her body over his; his hand in her hair; chest and lips pressed firmly together as they tangled themselves in a knot of lust and pleasure. Soon he matched her state of undress, and then they gradually found themselves partially submerged in the water, pressed up against the rock with her legs wrapped around his waist and his hips bucking into her pelvis. Slow at first, as the pain was immediate but it gradually slipped away, and then the movements got faster. Their lips were hovering over each other as they breathed the other's hot air; he inhaled every moan and whine of pleasure coming from her lungs. Her toes curled and her nails dug into his shoulders as she could feel the sun rise in her stomach. She arched her body and pulled her head back with her eyes tightly closed. He nuzzled her neck until the very last stroke; until the very last moan of satisfaction.

**\- Short Lemon Scene End -**

As the air came back into the lungs, they sunk further into the water as their bodies became lead, but remained tangled and molded together.

Kára opened her eyes as if for the first time. The sky seemed more blue, and trees more green. Everything was going to change after this point, she quickly realized. She left Hedeby a girl, and she was going to return as a woman.

____________________________________

** Chapter Synopsis: **

The group begin the day with fortifications of the village and traps for animals, but Kara and Thorvald believe it is a person doing the attacks. With intentions to go find the culprit the next day, they continue working. Svana disagrees with this, and believes that they should have gone hunting for the wolf right away. Without telling anyone, she and Ljota go into the woods to track down the canine prints. They get lost. Hours later before dusk, Gunnr and Kara realize theyre missing. Gunnr leaves to go tell Thorvald, and Kara goes a head to track down the two girls, as night was starting to come.

Svana and Ljota finally find the wolf den, and prepare to lure it out to kill it, but it was a trap. Svana stood on a snare trap and was pulled upside down in the air by her ankle. In that moment, the wolves attacked. When Kara came, the wolves were nipping at Svana's hair as she dangled above them. Kara shot all three wolves and then freed Svana. Then she saw the mangled body of Ljota. The two took a moment to cry and puke and process over the sight of their shield sister, and in those vulnerable moments, a Mad Man captured Svana and put a knife to her throat threateningly.

At this time, Thorvald, Gunnr and Hrut were tracking the girls. Hrut led them to a short cut to the cave he suspected to be the wolf's den, and came up from the rear end. When the three entered the center of the cave, it was filled with animal bones, a hearth, a bed for the wolves, and a bed of furs where the body of a decomposed man lay. It was Thorballa's husband, Jorund.

Outside the cave, Kara did her best to distract the Mad Man and coax him into letting go of Svana. In this moment she learned that the wolfdogs were treated like his own children, and that he had a lover who just died. When the Mad Man figured out what she was doing, he attempted to react, but Kara and Svana reacted quicker. Svana bit his hand, and Kara bashed his head with a rock, but it didn't knock him out. It gave them enough time to scramble away from him, and grabbed weapons. But the Mad Man rushed them, giving them barely enough to react. Thorvald and the others were out of the cave just in time, and Thorvald saved the girls by swinging his axe and lopping of the man's head.

It was revealed that the man was actually Thorballa's brother, Torfi. They suspected that Torfi and Jorund were lovers who stopped in the cave along their journey to Kattegat to make relations and found the abandoned pups in there. Kara believes that Torfi killed Jormund when he refused to leave his wife to live in the woods and raise the dogs as if they were their own children. They decided not to tell the village of the truth, and instead bring back one of the wolfdog bodies as proof the wolf was dead, and then bury Jormund and Torfi's body in the cave, sealing it with rocks and clay. They then buried Ljota's body with the two other wolfdogs in her grave, along with her sword and shield underneath a willow tree.

Kara went to bath down at a small lake next to the babbling brook. In her grief of the tiring events, she washed away the dirt from her skin and emerged from the water to find a surprised Thorvald getting ready to go for a dip as well. Neither were aware of each other being there until they saw each other. Something took over Kara, and she felt compelled to approach him. In the heat of the moment, after little words spoken, they made love in the lake. Kara lost her virginity that day, and symbolically left her girlhood behind her. She returns to Hedeby a woman.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope the chapter was worth the wait. It was long to write. The next chapter will take place in the future, and I'm hoping I can get it out sooner rather than much later. I'm getting closer to the point of the reunite, and I just want to make sure I set it up properly so the wait will be worth it.
> 
> Be sure to check out the pictures for this chapter in the pinterest:
> 
> pinterest . ca / Catherine_Braganza / 
> 
> Remove spaces
> 
> or simply search for the user Catherine_Braganza on pinterest. 
> 
> Be safe, and Happy Readings!


	19. 18: the ring of fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two years have passed.

Kára's feet skidded across the wet and icy ground, nearly losing her footing and exposing her position. Hadn't there been a hand that grabbed her and pulled her behind a rock formation, she would have slipped and landed in open clearing. Esmé quickly clasped her hand over Kára's mouth to prevent her from yelping and giving their position. Kára's eyes went wide from surprise, then shifted to look at her friend raising her other finger to her lips to signal for her to be quiet. Slowly she let go of Kára, and then the two crouched behind the rocks, breathing hard but softly.

"They're behind the trees," Esmé spoke in a whisper, pointing forward to where Kára had originally been heading.

"Where's Svana and Gunnr? We cannot take them all alone," Kára asked, looking around her to make sure no one was around. It was the middle of winter, and the sun was setting earlier every day, bringing them closer to Yuletide.

"They're on the other side," Esmé snuck a look over the rock. Their people were scattered, but Gunnr and Svana were the shadow team, and managed to close in behind the enemy without them noticing. As long as their attention was on Kára and Esmé, Svana and Gunnr had the chance to wipe out those that remained. But if they just sat here, the enemy won't wait for them to show their position forever. Esmé looked back at her shield sister, "We have to distract them."

Kára shook her head, "Oh no, I just barely escaped an attack."

"If we distract them, their position will be exposed, and they won't see Gunnr and Svana coming for them," Esmé explained, and placed a firm hand on her shoulder. "We were trained for this, sister. We always knew that we'd make sacrifices."

Kára's jaw straightened as she considered her words. With a great sigh through her nose, she grabbed her shield sister's hand on her shoulder. "Victory or Valhalla."

Esmé smiled, "Victory or Valhalla."

The two of them took a deep breath as they picked themselves from the icy ground, holding their weapons in their fists and jumped over the rock formation. Their battle cry shook the silence of the forest, and their heels pounded the ground with violent vibrations. Snow crunched beneath their weight and flew around their stampede as they both charged the trees.

They were barely able to move their readied arms before they were immediately pelted in succession by the enemy with a force that knocked them both on their backs. The shrill screams of victory pierced the drums of the girls' ears, but that was short lived when a voice shouted over them.

"Oi, shitheads!"

Kára never thought she would say this, but the sound of Svana's voice filled her with relief. Though nothing was more satisfying than the screams of children being pummelled with icy snowballs by grown women. Kára braved an eye open, blinking away the icy cold snow sliding down her face, and immediately ran her hands through the surrounding ground, and gathered snow in her palms and quickly joined Svana and Gunnr in the assault.

The kids both laughed and screamed as they were reduced to a pile on the floor as the four adult women attacked them with snowballs. Once it slowed down, the oldest of the group of kids, Frodi, pulled his hands from his eyes and glared at the shieldmaidens, particularly at Kára.

"You tricked us!" The eleven year old shouted.

Kára stuck her tongue out the boy, "Take this as advice, little pup: always stay ahead of your enemy." She laughed at his eye roll and pout, but offered his hand for her to take. He, of course, ignored it, and pushed himself up. Frodi had become a surrogate brother ever since she had become his primary archery and hunting teacher two years ago. It was hard to ignore the changes he rapidly went through in such a short period of time, from his height, to his voice, and to his attitude. Especially the growth of that typical norseman ego and pride.

"Hali, you were supposed to keep watch of the others!" True to any man, Frodi directed the fault at someone else.

Esmé and Kára rolled their eyes collectively at this. Hali, Lagertha's grandson, gave the older boy a scowl that only a Lothbrok could make. The five year old wiped the melting snow from his face with his sleeve and stood up in a huff, "I was _trying_ but your big ol' head was in the way!"

" _Your_ head will be in the way of my fist-"

"Frodi," Kára pulled on the boy by the shoulder and spun him around, and looked down at him with the furrowed brow of a disapproving elder. "That is not how you talk to those younger than you. If you ever want to get your armband, then you must act like a man. Men do not threaten those that are weaker than them; cowards do. Are you a man or a coward?"

His lips pursed and he looked away from her face. She sharply told him to look at her, and he did so reluctantly. When he caught her eye, a guilty look took over his annoyed one.

In a pathetic voice, he replied, "I am a man."

"Then act like it," she gave him a flick on his forehead, and then tousled his hair.

"Are you all done here?" A voice called from a few yards away. Looking up, Kára could just make out Astrid by the dying light of the setting sun. "Lagertha wants everyone in the Hall. We've got a visitor."

Without room for questions, Astrid sauntered away from everyone. The four girls, and the children all looked at each other in confusion, all thinking the same question. Who was the visitor? As the youngins all sped out of the forest, ready to warm up around a hearth, the four girls trailed behind them.

"Who do you think it is?" Gunnr asked as she rubbed her mitten covered hands together.

"Another Jarl?" Esmé wondered out loud.

"If it was a Jarl, we would have known about it days ago," Svana said. "But it has to be someone of significance if Astrid was sent to collect us."

"Perhaps it's Thorvald," When Esmé mentioned the name, all three girls looked directly at Kára.

The last time they saw Thorvald was last summer, and Kára was painfully aware of how long he had been gone. While Lagertha was used to him being gone for many seasons, Kára was not too keen on people coming into her life just to leave. After they returned from the village two years ago, Kára and Thorvald had attempted at a secret courtship, but failed at hiding it, so the city was well aware of their status of lovers. But as a ranger, Thorvald would come in and out of Kára's life like seasons changing. Then, suddenly, he just didn't return, and the only thing that was left were the speculations, none of which were at all encouraging.

But, that was the life that he chose, and the life Kára knew her people lived. She didn't love him, at least not in the way that she loved Ivar, but Thorvald had become a trusted friend and ally, and she did miss him. However, she had to move on, like she always had to do with everyone that stepped out of her life.

Kára finally noticed the silence, and shifted her eyes around and noticed they were looking at her pensively. With a furrowed brow, she questioned, "What?"

"If it is Thorvald, would you do us a kindness, and wait until you two are alone before you pull off your dress?" Svana asked.

Kára sighed irritably, "For the last time, I did not see you in the hut."

When they made it to Lagertha's longhouse, the sound of jovial chatter could be heard from the outside. The sun had officially set on Hedeby, and the children had long ago beat the four shieldmaidens to the destination. The structure seemed swell with the amount of bodies that were collected inside, which indicated a celebration of some kind. When the four entered into the Hall, they immediately noticed unfamiliar faces amongst the karls of Hedeby.

Kára scanned the crowd in an attempt to spot the pale blonde head of Thorvald, but she found no one that even remotely matched her memory of him. However, she did spot someone else that made her world slow down. It was a face she didn't expect to see, and didn't think she would see, at least not for some more years.

"Bjorn?!"

Her voice barely carried through the chattering crowd, so Kára moved closer and called out louder a few more times. His head perked once the call of his name reached him, and the large man looked around and spotted the girl that was slowly approaching him. She said nothing, but knew as he gazed at her that he didn't recognize her, at least not immediately. When the hearthlight reflected against her red hair, which had darkened over the years, she could see the recognition dawn on him.

"Is that Kára Grœnnfótr I see?" Bjorn's smile broadened as he extended his arms out to wrap them around her once she reached him. She laughed at the old nickname and when he lifted her up with ease. Bjorn was just as big as she remembered, but somehow bigger. It may have been how much he matured over the years. No doubt arriving home after Paris had made him age fast, what with the news of Siggy's death and the disappearance of Ragnar.

It had hit Kára hard when she heard of Siggy's death when she got to Hedeby. She held regrets for leaving the toddler in the hands of an unstable queen. She knew it was an accident, but she still felt guilty for not taking the girl with her when she and her mother were casted out of Kattegat. Lagertha assured her Siggy was not her responsibility, nor was it Hulda's, being that Aslaug was given the task of looking after her. The Jarl had a look in her eyes when saying that, making Kára believe that Lagertha blamed her first grandchild's death on the Queen's negligence. Kára couldn't wholly believe that Aslaug would be that irresponsible, but the last time she saw her, she was erratic and unstable, so the possibility of negligence wasn't lost on the girl.

Bjorn, however, was a sight for sore eyes. He had a bit of everyone in his features, mainly his father around his eyes. She missed Ragnar, and seeing his eldest son brought those feelings back. It was enough for her to tear up, but after years of being shieldmaiden, she had learned to cage her emotions when appropriate. When Kára met Torvi, she was in awe of her, not just because she was a princess, but because she had made a name of herself when she returned from Paris along with everyone else. During the majority of Kára's stay in Hedeby, Torvi was back at Kattegat, and when she returned to Hedeby, she came with two sons, and a young daughter. Guthrum, the eldest, Hali, the second son, and Asa, the youngest daughter. Hali and Asa, Kára learned, were Bjorn's. It was quite daunting to learn this, given that the last time she saw Bjorn he was merely a father of one, and now he had two children both older and of the same age as Siggy was. Then there was Guthrum, who Kára had never formally met, but he was the same age, if not a season younger, as her and the other girls.

After the initial catch up, Bjorn had taken Kára aside to Lagertha's quarters, away from the chatter and music in the main hall. Both reclined in the chairs at the round wooden table, and once she saw Bjorn's features relax, Kára knew that the conversation would be veering into a more personal one.

"Lagertha told me Ragnar had been with you and your mother," he spoke, making a statement rather than a question. "I am afraid to ask what he was like during those years."

"He was not well in the beginning. My mother and I took care of him, until we purged his body of the poison from his body," Kára immediately answered. "He got better, if you were wondering. Enough to take care of himself, and then me."

"I cannot deny that gives me some peace of mind. I was worried that his mind had completely rotten, and there was nothing left of him but a shadow."

"I don't want to lie to you, Bjorn, even when he was at his full strength, there was something that haunted his mind that I was far too young to understand," Kára admitted, fiddling with her thumbs. "I still don't understand. I suspect that's one of the reasons why he left me to Lagertha."

Bjorn nodded somberly, "There are battles a man must fight alone. It is a pity that he had to turn his back on his people and on his family. I still do not respect that decision, Kára. He had responsibilities, and what I'm understanding is that he chose to ignore them even when he was on his feet."

"I understand, Bjorn," Kára gave a small smile. "I do not know where he is now, if you were wondering."

"Wherever he is, Kára, I do not think he will return," he reached towards the table and grabbed his ale, and took a sip.

With a tilt of her head, she asked, "Why do you think that?"

"Would you?"

She couldn't help herself, she gave a snort and leaned her head back against the chair. "I would not be able to if I wanted."

Kára suspected Bjorn knew what had happened just by the lack of reaction to her words. It was a relief, since she didn't want to retell the story of what happened. She was getting tired of telling it, almost as much as she was tired of remembering it. In fact, she had just managed to finally put it behind her and accept the fact that she may never return to Kattegat, nor see Ivar ever again. That was, until Bjorn spoke.

"There is nothing stopping you, Grœnnfótr."

"The ruling queen of Kattegat is stopping me, Ironside."

He waved his large hand and made a dismissive noise, "Do not worry about Aslaug. She has drowned herself in sweet wines for the last five winters. I doubt that she even remembers what you look like."

Kára stared at him for a beat as she let the mere idea of returning to Kattegat humour her heart. After that moment passed, she looked away and shook her head, "Ivar is probably resentful. I nearly killed him; I do not doubt he would want to return the favour."

An unsettling silence befell on the room. The muffled chatter and drum playing outside in the hall created a static noise to fill it, but the sudden look of pity that filled Bjorn's eyes was loud enough to drown it out of her ears.

"You didn't hear?"

A pit of worry settled into the center of her stomach as a flurry of dreadful scenarios rushed through her mind, down her throat and to her heart. The colour drained from her face as she swallowed, dreading the answer to her question.

"Hear what?"

"Ivar lost his memory. He does not remember anything past the beginning of that spring, before he met you."

Bjorn's voice was careful, but direct. His eyes searched the girl's face, trying to read her as if she were a child once more. And in that moment, it was like she was, at least in her eyes. Her body was stiff like steel, but her eyes flickered around to avoid Bjorn's, as if she were looking at her own thoughts scribed before her. Finally, her eyebrows furrowed, and her mouth opened just a fraction, desperate to respond to the news, but all she could muster was an nearly inaudible "What?"

"Sigurd told us that Ivar has no recollection of anything before the day he met you, or your mother, and that... he is not the same."

"Not the same?" Kára asked quietly with a tilt of her head. "What do you mean?"

"He has become stubborn, arrogant, and selfish."

"He was always stubborn, arrogant, and selfish."

Bjorn gave a snort, "It is worse, then."

Kára gave a sigh and shifted herself in the chair, shaking her head, mostly to herself. "I do not know what you want me to say. If Ivar does not even remember me, there is little for me to return to Kattegat to. I was not close to Ubbe, Sigurd, or Hvitserk, and you are here. So there is nothing in Kattegat that waits for me."

Bjorn gave her a tight lip smile before leaning against his knees, holding his mug in his laced fingers. "Kára, if you ask me, Ivar is different, _because_ he does not remember you. You may not have known it, but you did a lot of good for him. And now... all that good is gone, and what is left is..." He sighed as he trailed off. "You do not need to go back if you truly do not want to, Kára. But, do not think there is nothing waiting for you in Kattegat. He just does not remember who he is waiting for."

**X X X**

Yuletide seemed to go by faster than Kára had realized. Ever since she had talked to Bjorn, she had been living primarily in her own thoughts. She lay awake in her bed, tossing and turning, her mind filled with overlapping voices of the past. The shrill yell of Aslaug had never died down in her memory. She remembered every word said to her, but the image seemed to grow more and more angry over the years. Hulda often said that when she grew up she would look back at her childhood as if she were looking at a fish in the ocean. Kára had no idea what she meant by that, but it was clear now. Things looked bigger under the surface of the water than they actually were. And even as she rationalized that it wouldn't be as bad as she thought it would if she had returned, Kára still saw that fish as large as a shark.

She had flipped flopped her decision for weeks, and then months. Bjorn had stayed in Hedeby for the rest of the winter season, but he hadn't brought up the topic to her since that day. It wasn't until the snow began to melt, and the buds on the trees were starting to show that Bjorn brought it up, because that was when he was returning to Kattegat.

"We will be returning to Kattegat by sunrise," he told her at the foot of her house she had shared with Esmé. "You can accompany us. It would be safer than on your own."

After silent consideration to his words, she merely nodded at him, and said, "If you don't see me in the morning, you'll know my decision."

His response was a simple nod, and left her alone.

Kára leaned against the side of the small house, watching his tall frame walk away, and wondered if that was going to be the last time she was going to see Bjorn for some time. Her eyes moved over to the expanse of the city, over the faces that she had become familiar with over the last two years. Her eyes landed on Lagertha, who had been looking at her as well. It was a great distance, but they stared at each other until the older gave her a nod and turned away.

A silent blessing of whatever path Kára decided to take.

**X X X**

That night Kára fell into an uneasy sleep. There was still the remnant of a chill in the air that seeped into the crevices of the house and yet despite it Kára was in a sweat. Her furs were tangled between her legs as she twisted around in her cot, feeling her body ache in every position, but unable to open her eyes from the sleepless slumber.

Her mind was trapped in a humid fog in which she couldn't escape. The air around her felt moist and hot, so moist that her hair clung to her skin with a dampness that didn't come from her own sweat. Her feet stumbled forward in the fog, feeling the surface under her was was as if it had no mass to support her. Her ears were deaf to all sounds, except to her breathing and the foreboding rhythm of her heartbeat. This sound she had heard in her dreams before, but she only recognized it as the beat of a drum.

The farther she moved forward, the hotter the air seemed to get. Nothing changed, otherwise; the fog still blinded her, her heart still pounded in her head like a steady war drum. Before she felt herself grow hopeless, she could faintly see a glow of light in the fog. It was warm and yellow, reminding her of the sun. Like a moth, she followed it. Her legs felt they were chained to rocks; rocks that grew larger and heavier the closer she walked towards the warm glow. However, the sheer desperation to be freed from the greyness of the fog was enough for her to ignore the weight she dragged.

Her breathing became laboured, the drums louder in her head, and when she reached the source of the warm light, she fell to her knees. A ring of fire raged in front of her, and at its center floating as if underwater, was a valkyrie. Her red hair danced around her head like a curtain of silk. Her forehead adorned a crown of gold, and her body clad in a sheer fabric in the colours of pale white and dark blue. It billowed around her like the northern lights. And then Kára her wings, which were weighed down and trapped by chains that anchored her floating body.

Kára could not make out her face, as her hair obscured her view. The weight that seemed to pull her to the ground seemed to be heavier than ever before, and the longer Kára looked at the winged creature, she could feel a constricted feeling in her chest grow and her mind cloud in darkness. There was a strange mixture of foreignness and familiarity to these emotions, it was as if they were not hers, and yet were, at the same time.

Then when the valkyrie's hair floated from view, Kára at last got a glimpse at the pale features of her, she had immediately gotten her answer.

She gasped, but what she inhaled wasn't air. It was water. Kára suddenly couldn't breathe, and the drumming of her heart grew louder. Her hands reached up to claw her neck, and her limbs thrashed around as if she were under water. Then suddenly she heard the voice of the Seer in her head like the sharp ring of a bell.

" _Water is your grave."_

And all at once, the fog around her rapidly sunk below her, and the sight of the ring of fire and the valkyrie shrunk beneath her. Her body ascended until she was greeted with sharpness of cold air, in which she gasped greedily for. As she steadied her breathing, Kára looked around and found herself standing on a frozen lake, surrounded by a ring of fire. She slowly looked down to her feet, and saw right through the crystalline surface to the very bottom, where the valkyrie stared at her with sea-weed coloured eyes that resembled her own.

Her lips moved, and though Kára could not hear her, she made out the word, " _Spjótkona_."

**X X X**

Kára abruptly shot up from her cot hyperventilating uncontrollably. Her eyes were wide open, but it took her a moment to fully focus on the familiar surroundings. She felt the crisp air greet her damp skin, as if she had walked out from a sauna to the cold post winter air. She then was acutely aware of how tangled she was in her furs. It was still dark, but the moon barely made it through the cracks in the wood to offer some light. Esmé was still asleep, and completely undisturbed.

After getting control of her breathing, Kára gently reclined back in her cot, and rested her palm over her forehead. She was afraid of closing her eyes, so she stared at the ceiling, trying to ground herself to reality. Alas, the memory of the dream was fresh in her mind, and the ring of fire burned in her mind and left a mark. Or rather, opened an old wound.

" _..._ _Only you must decide who you want to be: defined by the past, or designed for the future..."_

The Seer's words echoed in her mind a second time that night; words that she had reflected on for years since he first spoke to her. It wasn't until that moment until she truly understood the true meaning of it, and what she had to do. What she needed to do.

With silent movements, Kára changed into her travelling gear, and packed a bag of essentials. It took her less than an hour to get everything, and it was still dark. She looked over at the slumbering Esmé, and reached up to her chest and took off a pin from her cloak and rested on the table beside her shield sister's cot. With one last look around, she turned on her heel and quietly left the house.

After she packed some salted pork and hard bread, she made her way to the stables. The gentle glow of the horizon began to lighten the sky by the time she had saddled up her horse, Dynja. People would begin to rise to start their morning duties soon, and Kára had intended to leave before anyone saw her leave. With a swift pull, she swung herself into the saddle, and made a quick check to ensure all her things were securely strapped. With a click of her tongue, she nudged Dynja out of the stables.

"Kára?" A small voice spoke, causing her to whip her head around to the side of the stables. Frodi stood there, wiping his eyes with the butt of his palm, blinking into the darkness of the receding night. "Where are you going?"

She frowned as she looked at him, feeling the guilt creep up on her. It was the very reason why she didn't want to see anyone before she left. She was leaving everyone, like her mother did, and Ragnar after. Of all the people who she didn't want to see, it was Frodi, who immediately reminded her of herself. He was of similar age when her own life changed entirely.

"Frodi, I need to ask something of you," she spoke with her fingers tightening around the reigns and Dynja paced on his hooves impatiently. Frodi looked at her with knitted brows and a frown, but gave her a nod for her to continue. "Tell Bjorn that I made a decision. And tell Lagertha... Tell Lagertha that I have a sea to conquer."

Frodi looked positively confused, but he nodded. Kára smiled at him, "You're a good man, Frodi. Good men are hard to come by."

She nodded at him one last time, clicked her tongue, and spurred her horse away. Frodi could do nothing but watch the tail of her horse as she rode towards her last sunrise in Hedeby.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is getting to a point in the story where I've been waiting to be revealed. For a while I've been picturing how these chapters will go for a while, and I hope I translated what's in my mind into words properly. Chapter nineteen will be the chapter that will conclude this era in Kara's life, and chapter twenty will finally be what everyone's waiting for.
> 
> Unfortunately, there are no images that go with this chapter, but there will be a few next chapter.
> 
> Happy Reading! xoxo
> 
> ps. If you have any idea of what's going on, please don't post in the reviews any spoilers, it ruins it for new comers. Thank you!


	20. 19: the spearwife

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just keep swimming

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Yuletide everyone!
> 
> I have exciting news, as this chapter marks the end of this story arc in this story, and that means the next chapter is what everyone is waiting to read :) I know it's been a HOT MINUTE, but I'm a person that focuses on character development the most, and I wanted to create an OC that people are invested in.
> 
> I'm hoping that I can get the next chapter out before the year ends. I'll give my word I'll try, but to say I'm tired from work is an understatement, hah.
> 
> Anyway, thank you everyone for reviewing! It's really the most motivating thing to any writer. We all crave feedback and knowing that people enjoy what they write! Every little one is highly appreciated :3

The peaceful rhythm of the water lulled Ulf into a meditative state that day, which was a great contrast to the days prior. He was drained emotionally, but his muscles, while exhausted, were numb as he carried on. He rode night and day to transport Sigrún's body to the lake, knowing this was where she wanted her body to be released. They had planned on making a house near it, where they could make a living from smithing and fishing in peace.

The lake was their slice of paradise in Midgard; it was where they first met, where they first made love, and where they decided to share their future. Now? Now it was a graveyard. Their grave yard.

Ulf's eyes were sunken from a lake of sleep, but he refused to rest until Sigrún was laid to rest. He took his old fishing boat, and filled it with dry leaves and twigs, then gently laid her body on top of it. By now her body was already advancing its stages to decay, and he knew he couldn't bear to look at what she'd become underneath the tarp he wrapped her in. He didn't want his last memory of her face to be that of death. Ulf still decorated her with wild flowers, and placed her armour on top of her clothed form. On Top of her head, he made her a crown of flowers and vines, and when he placed, he planted one last chaste kiss upon her forehead. Lastly, he placed her spear down vertically on her body. It was snapped in half during battle, but he had found the pieces before he found Sigrún. It seemed like it pointed to her body along the battlefield.

It was dusk once Sigrún was ready for her burial. Ulf sullenly poured oil on the bed of leaves and twigs, and with little strength he had left, he pushed the boat into the lake. Once the pull of the waves took hold of the hull, Ulf landed on his knees and watched the boat float away. He suddenly felt the weight return to his chest and shoulders. His dry, sleep-deprived eyes glistened with tears and fell freely down his dirt stricken face and to his beard. The further Sigrún's body floated away, the farther in despair Ulf found himself.

After what felt like an eternity, Ulf pulled himself to his feet. The weight made his knees weak, but he managed to keep his balance. There was still one thing left to be done. He took an arrow that he had wrapped in oil sodden cloth, and with a quick motion he lit it on fire with flint and steel. He knocked it and aimed, trying to focus his blurry eye onto the boat. He would not forgive himself if he did not make it on the first try.

The wind seemed to favour him, because the arrow flew with speed and precision, and it landed right into the bed of leaves, and all caught aflame.

And there Ulf watched as the fire ate up the boat and freed Sigrún's soul from her body, raising it to the gates of Valhalla. As the sun set over the mountains, the night sky quickly blanketed the area in a sombre blue. Soon the only light was the flames of the pyre, which sailed farther and farther away from Ulf.

The last light in his life shrank right in front of his eyes, and all that was left was the darkness.

**X X X**

Bjorn stood by the horse carriage as it was being packed and prepared for the journey back to Kattegat. His eyes looked around the area for the seventh time, and just like the other times, he didn't spot the head of red hair he wished to see. His mother came to stand by his side, holding Asa at her hip.

"I was hoping she would come," Bjorn confessed.

"Perhaps it is not her time to return," Lagertha reasoned.

"Or fear is holding her back," Bjorn looked down at his boot before turning to his mother. "It is a disappointment."

Lagertha smiled at him, "She will return, on her own one day."

Their conversation was cut short when one of Lagertha's shieldmaidens, the former Frankish woman Esmé, jogged over to them.

"Oh, thank the gods you have not left," she said, catching her breath once she reached them. "Kára left without saying a word. Where is she? I'd like to give her a piece of my mind for not saying anything."

Lagertha and Bjorn collectively gave the girl a confused look.

"She is not here," Lagertha spoke. "She was not there when you woke?"

Esmé's smile dropped, "No… She left this." She held up the cloak pin. It was nothing fancy, but it had been the first materialistic thing that Kára had bought with her earnings as a shieldmaiden. "I thought she took Bjorn's offer."

Lagertha took the pin and palmed it in her hand curiously. It was a simple pin, with the ends shaped as leaves. There was no other significance to it, other than its ties to Hedeby.

"Pardon my intrusion, Jarl Ingstad," a small voice spoke. Lagertha tore her eyes from the pin in her hand, and onto the boy. It was Kára's trainee, Frodi. His eyebrows were turned upwards, and had a curious crestfallen look to his eyes. "Kára wanted me to relay a message to you and Bjorn."

Lagertha shared a look with her son before looking back at the boy, "What is it, child?"

Frodi looked up at the man first, and spoke, "Kára wanted me to tell you that she made her decision."

Bjorn stared at the boy for a beat before sighing through his nose and gave him a tight lipped smile and a short nod.

Then, Frodi looked back at his Jarl, "And she wanted me to tell you, my lady, that… She had a sea to conquer."

It had been a couple of years since Lagertha had that discussion with Kára during her first months of being in Hedeby. However, the recognition of the words was immediate. She felt her chest swell with pride at this news. There were just some waters women had to sail alone, and it appeared it was Kára's time to do just that.

Lagertha smiled at the boy, "So she does. Thank you, Frodi."

**X X X**

The Remnants of snow turned into slush the moment hooves trampled over it. The birds in the branches chirped their mating songs, but the moment the large animal ran through the trees, they dispersed. The air was cold, but the bright sun warmed Kára's back as she rode through the familiar forest. It was familiar, but not at the same time. Sure, the trees got bigger, and the streams deeper, but the change was not from the aesthetic of it. There was something in the air that tasted different. It wasn't as sweet as she remembered.

Kára road through the day, only stopping to rest her horse by dusk. She got little sleep; like the night before she left Hedeby, her thoughts were a tangled mess of regrets and second guesses. She wished she could have given a proper farewell to her shield sisters, and given Lagertha the proper appreciation she deserved. Alas, she was already far enough that turning back would just be counter productive. Kára couldn't deny the selfishness of her impulsiveness, but with her mind as indecisive as it was, she couldn't trust herself if she sat on it for too long. If she had stayed until everyone was awake, she would have changed her mind and prolonged it, or never allowed it to come to fruition. And that, Kára understood, would be her biggest regret of all.

Kára reached the old fishing shack by the lake by mid day. It appeared exactly the same way she remembered it. There was still snow gathered in its crevices, but what remained of the skeleton appeared to be exactly the same. She hopped off of Dynja and allowed the horse to drink from the shallows of the lake, then walked over to the shack and looked it over like some riddle she had yet to solve.

She did feel compelled to be in this exact spot, as if she knew what it meant. Of course, this place did mean something to her. It was where she came upon the black wolf she had believed to be her father. _Was_ her father. The older she got, the more sensible she seemed to get, but right now, her sensible reasoning seemed to dwindle away just like her childhood imagination.

This old fishing shack meant something, and she knew it was where she needed to begin. With a great sigh, she pulled off her cloak, her sword, her bow, her quiver, and then lastly, her riding boots. All that she allowed to remain on her were her trousers and tunic, which she tucked into her pants after removing her belt. Then she marched the shallows of the lake, biting the inside of her cheeks as the sting of the icy cold water bit her toes, and then her calves, thighs, and then her stomach.

The lake had not completely thawed, as slates of ice still clung to the earth at the edges. The sun still comforted the top of Kára's head, but that did little to sooth her numbing limbs. Her breathing felt laboured and heavier the more the water ate up her body. There was a moment when she thought to go back, and leave this for when the weather was hotter, but like she had done with her doubts before, she ignored that cowardly voice in her head.

When the water finally met her chin, she breathed out through her lips and began swimming further into the lake. She kept her eyes focused on the gentle waves of the lake, and her mind on the dream in which she marched through the humid fog. The ground was so far beneath her feet now, and all that was left was ice cold water. She wanted to look back to see how far she had swam, but looking back would be her downfall, so she kept on swimming.

And swimming.

And swimming.

And then, just when she felt like her legs and arms would turn into lead and pull her underneath, the water just… silenced. The sound of gentle splashing deafened in her ears, even though it still moved around her, completely unperturbed. All she heard now was her own laboured breathing… And the beat of a drum.

With a sharp inhale of air Kára plunged into the water, where she saw nothing by murky green-blue water. It seemed endless and hopeless, but she swam on, trying to fight the natural pull of her body wanting to float back to the top. She was never a strong swimmer, being that she spent most of her childhood afraid of the water, but at that moment her muscles felt like they were taking over. A stroke, a kick, a stroke, a kick; Kára had no idea how she was able to hold onto her breath for longer than twenty seconds, and by then it must have been no less than 2 minutes. Two minutes of swimming deeper and deeper into the depths of the lake.

Finally she could see the stringy tendrils of the curly weeds gently swaying in the water, and the darkening of the lake floor. As the green murk of the water cleared with the visual of the dirt ground, Kára could faintly see the outline of a sunken boat, and a gathering of rocks in the shape of a circle that encased it.

She knew there was not enough time to linger and laminate at it all. The boat, as she saw it, was decomposed, partially covered with earth and vegetation over time. A glint of steel is what caught her eye, and when she reached for it, it was the curve of a skull that made her pause.

Her lungs began to burn and panic in her veins was starting to bloom. She quickly grabbed the rusted steel, and in the process, she knocked a rock in the ring out of place. With an iron grip, she held onto her treasure and began swimming up. Whatever gave her the superhuman ability to swim this far into the lake in such cold weather was starting to wear off. The very real sensation of her mortality was apparent, and Kára frantically pushed her body up through the water. The surface seemed so much more farther away than the bottom did.

The desperation for air was too much for her lungs. Her mouth opened, letting out her last bubbles of air she had clung to for as long as she could. The cold then met her bones, and suddenly her body felt like an anchor. Kára made a sound of panic under the water while frantically kicking her deadweight leg. From the corner of her eye, she could see a dark form, like a giant fishing net cloaking behind her. Kára made the mistake of looking behind her.

The ghostly blue-green face of the raven-haired goddess Rán starred up at her. Her arms outstretched with her net in her grasp, ready to capture Kára and drag her to Hel. The panic intensified and she kicked harder, her fingers gripping her prize as if it were fused with her fingers. She looked back up, just faintly seeing the glittering surface. Kára could feel the brush of the net at her toes as Rán inched ever forward, readying her embrace.

Kára trained her eyes on the surface, which felt farther away than ever before. Her vision was starting to blacken around the edges, and the net seemed to be getting closer and closer to enveloping her. The sun seemed to dim above her, mimicking her fading lifeforce. And then suddenly it disappeared, and Kára's body froze as her last hope had been gone.

And as Rán's net hugged her shoulders, her arms floated above her head. In her right hand she still held onto the spear, as if it was now part of her arm.

A hand plunged into the water and grabbed a hold of it, then a second to reach for her wrist. With strength like no mortal man had, Kára was lifted from the water and onto a boat. Her eyes were half open, half dead, and her lips were blue and parted. She was frozen to the bone, but not yet the heart, because she could feel, and what she felt was a divine warmth on her skin. Her eyelids fluttered as she saw a brilliant golden glow radiating from a winged silhouette

"Sigrún…" A voice spoke to her, as if trying to wake her up from a bad dream. "Sigrún, it's time to go. It is time to go home."

Air seemed to push through her lungs and purge the water out. Kára began to cough harshly and violently. Her eyes blinked wildly, trying to get rid of the blur that obscured her vision. She could just barely make out the smiling face of a large woman, hair like golden wheat, eyes like sapphires, and pearl white wings stretch behind her.

Kára blinked again and the woman was farther away, closer to the sun and no longer alone. Another held her hand, wings drooping down behind her, and a long curtain of red hair flowed between her shoulder blades. When she turned around to look down at Kára, her smile was gentle, her eyes bright behind the dews of her tears, and her other arm stretched out towards Kára.

"Thank you," she heard her voice like the sound of autumn leaves in the wind.

And then Kára blinked again, and all she saw was the blinding sun.

"Kára," A gravelly voice spoke as a hand patted her cheek. "Kára, she's gone. It's done… It's done."

The girl slowly turned her head to the source of the voice, and found herself looking at the grotesque folds of the Seer. He held her closely to his body, his hands cupping her face, and his fingers moving along the edges of her features.

Kára stared at him for the longest time, as if he was the one that wasn't real. She breathed hard, and then swallowed. She realized she was hugging something to her chest, and when she looked down, she saw the rusted spear stuck in her grasp. As her vision focused, she could just make out a runes that spelt out the name of the owner of the spear. _Sigrún Spearwife_

"She's gone," Kára repeated in a whisper. "It's done."

She closed her eyes and rested her head in the Seer's arms, "I'm free."

**X X X**

Kára wasn't sure when, but she had eventually passed out. Her first conscious thought was recognizing the sound of a crackling hearth upon waking, and being bound in thick blankets and furs. She was staring up at the ceiling, which was decorated with herbs, animal bones, and runes on wood chips. The strong scent that was an indescribable blend of earth and age triggered a memory, and she slowly realized that she was in the Seer's house.

Without moving, she shifted her eyes over to the other side, immediately seeing the Seer by the hearth, grounding something up in a mortar.

"You're awake," he stated.

"How did I get here?" She asked after finding her voice

"I brought you here," he replied with a heavy breath. "Your horse is outside."

The mention of her horse seemed to ground her a little bit; she had forgotten she left him by the lake, but was relieved she hadn't lost him. Kára closed her eyes and settled into the comfort of the warmth that surrounded her. She never wanted to be cold again, but knew that eventually she would have to greet the cold air when she left. For now though, she would soak up the heat that her body was robbed.

As consciousness seemed to grasp her harder, the memories of the time past seem to float back to her like ship debri on the shoreline. It felt like a dream and Kára briefly wondered if that's what it was. Some fabrication her mind came up with while she was unconscious thanks to nearly drowning herself in a partially frozen lake.

As if he could read her mind, the Seer spoke.

"You did not imagine it, Kára," his gravelly voice spoke, making her open her eyes and turn to look at him.

"How is that possible?"

"You neared death, and that made you closer to the gods," he explained. "Being on the edge of mortality gives you a glimpse of what awaits you after death."

In the corner of her eye, she caught a glint of something reflecting the fire of the hearth, and when she shifted her eyes over to it, she saw the spear head that she had pulled off of the remains of Sigrún. This solidified the proof she needed that what happened, did happen.

Kára let out a soft sigh through her nose, and resettled in her furs, "The night of the blood moon, when you said that water was my grave… you weren't talking to me, were you?"

"I was," he answered. "You and Sigrún were one person. Had you not freed her from the ring of fire, you would still be one person."

"I have yet to understand that, and why she was trapped in a ring of fire in the first place."

"She was being punished for defying the All Father. Valkyries are meant to bring dead warriors to Valhalla, but she tried to intervene with a death; a death that belonged to the goddess Rán."

Kára recalled a dream that had always felt to her like a memory. She remembered dreaming of a frozen lake, a man standing on the ice and a winged woman before him. She realized now it _was_ a memory, but not her death that the Seer mentioned was her father's. He was on that lake to die, and Rán was there to collect his soul. A soul that Sigrún deprived her.

The Seer continued, "The All Father punished her the same way he had done another Valkyrie: imprisoned in a ring of fire. Sigrún's body was bound in it, but her soul bound herself with yours on that day, when you were born. She knew if she hadn't, she would be trapped there until the end of days."

Kára listened quietly, soaking in each word and making sense of her life with them. The odd dreams, for example, were a constant mystery to her. It made sense then, when the Seer had said that she dreamed of 'her' death all those years ago. What she was really seeing was her aunt's death, who was, at the time, part of her. So, her fate really was unwritten. Perhaps it was Sigrún's influence that made her own fate unknown to even Freya; like her very presence created a storm around Kára that blinded even the gods.

Blinking in slight confusion from another small detail, Kára looked over at the Seer with a furrowed brow, and asked in a small voice. "Who was the other Valkyrie that Odin punished?"

"You know her grandsons," he replied.

There was a beat of silence as Kára stared at him in confusion until it finally dawned on her. She sat up straighter, "Brynhildr. The mother of Aslaug." The seer nodded silently. "She… she was the one who pulled me and Sigrún out from the water."

"She guided me to you," The seer added. "It is no coincidence she was the one to do so, as your life has tangled so tightly with that of her youngest grandson."

"Ivar," Kára deduced. She remembered what Bjorn had told her of what happened to him, and how he has been different ever since he had lost his memory - particularly losing his memory of her. "He does not even remember me."

"Your mark is still on him, child. The gods may not be able to foresee your destiny, but it is clear that Ivar has a great part of it. Brynhildr would not have come had she not a reason to keep you alive." Suddenly the grinding noise of the mortar and pestle stopped, and when she looked up, he was looking up at her; a disfigured face shrouded by the shadow of his hood. Even though he had no eyes, she could feel them still staring right into her soul.

"You have powerful allies in Valhalla, Kára. The Valkyries have their eyes on you."

**X X X**

Kára remained with the Seer for a few nights until she was strong enough to be independent. While she knew that he would have no qualms with her remaining with him, they both knew it wouldn't be in her best interest. Kára could see where she was needed, and that was home.

When she arrived there, she wasn't sure what she expected. The house was still there, but nature had taken over it to the point where it was nearly unnoticeable to a passerby. However the remnants of the chicken coop and Ragnar's garden remained. The grass roof was overgrown and hung over the entrance. When Kára cut the long fridge, the first thing she saw was her mother's door. The three cats carved in the wood, which had aged rapidly from neglect.

Her hand moved over the engraving, thinking back to when she was a child. She remembered naming the cats on the door, but she couldn't recall what she had called them. Hulda had told her that the door was carved by Ulf as a present when Hulda had told him she was pregnant. They had been trying for years, but to no avail.

Kára cut the rest of the fringe that covered the front of the house. It needed some work, but it still stood, and she could make it a home once again. The inside was almost untouched. It was clear that scavengers had taken some of the more useful tools, but the cauldron remained, and the cot was still intact. It had no furs, but Kára could make do.

It took roughly a week for her to clean up the house. It wasn't perfect, but once she was able to clear out the animal nests and litter, and covered the smell with lavender and other flowers, it was livable. However, she really would like some furs for the cot and to cover up the windows. With little money, purchasing furs at the market wouldn't be an option, so instead, she fletched some arrows, made sure her horse was secure, and took off the next morning to hunt some large game.

She followed a trail of deer tracks into the forest, and found a place that they seemed to frequent, given the teeth marks in the bark. She climbed up a tree, and leaned against the trunk with her bow in hand and gave a soft sigh. Now all she had to do was wait.

With eyes closed, Kára allowed the sounds of the forest to fill her senses. She could hear the gentle wind of the ruffling leaves, the chirps of birds from the distance.

And the distinct sound of uneven footsteps.

Her eyes shot open and she looked around until she could see movement disturbing the stillness of the wood. Silently sitting up, Kára pulled her bow from around her and then crept along the thick branch to follow the form of a man moving slowly through the thicket. She stalked him like an animal; camouflaging herself in the shade of the branches until she was able to get closer to him. The leaves blocked most of her view, so she could only see glimpses of his shoulder and the dragging of his feet.

The stranger came to a slow stop, giving Kára ample opportunity to hunch down against a branch and peek through a keyhole sized opening through the green leaves. He was tall, but lithe, with short brown hair, and squared shoulders that seemed to droop down. Tucked under his arm was a crutch; at his hip a quiver of arrows, and hanging from his shoulder a curve of a bow. Kára looked down to his long legs and saw…metal and leather bindings.

… _Ivar?_

And as she thought of that name, her shock was so great that it lowered her guard. In those quick seconds, the man moved swiftly, and before she knew it, an arrow was flying right at her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gotta love a cliff hanger ;P
> 
> Ho boy, how I wanted to reveal this! So, a bit of background - Firstly, Brynhildr is the most famous Valkyries, mostly because she was the first to go against Odin, as well as who her first "spouse" was, which was Sigurd. They were both central characters of the Volsunga saga, which I won't get into. But as punishment for going against Odin's wishes by backing up an opposing army, Odin bound her in a ring of fire, to which Sigurd freed her from. They are Aslaug's parents, and the reason why she was an only child was because Brynhildr killed Sigurd, then killed herself. But I digress...
> 
> But back to Kara and Sigrun. Both are less known Valkyries, but they are, actually, the same person. I didn't follow the exact story, but essentially the story is of Sigrun and her lover Helgi and how they were reincarnated as Kara and Helgi by another name. So I followed the thread of reincarnation, and took liberties with the story (since the History channel does that anyway, lol). I never brought in Helgi, even though I did consider making him the father of Kara. I Just didn't want it to be obvious to those that were familiar with this story that this was what I was trying to do.
> 
> Another tidbit is that Kara means "the wild, stormy one", or possibly "The curly one", which is why I chose to give her wild curly hair, and the constant theme of storms that surround her. Which I plan on keeping as a theme throughout the story.
> 
> In other news, there are new images in Pinterest. I couldn't find a suitable picture of Brynhildr that I liked that wasn't hypersexualized, but if I find one in the future, I'll add it. In the mean time, I made a dollmaker creation to show what I pictured.
> 
> I feel like there was something else I wanted to say, but for the life of me, I can't figure it out. So I'll leave it at that, hah.
> 
> Happy holidays!


	21. 20: the bird and the snake, ii

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ivar thinks someone is following him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was hoping to get this out before the year ended, but the first day of 2021 is good too, haha. That being said, Happy New Year! I hope everyone had a safe holiday, and fingers crossed that 2021 is a little more merciful with everyone. I just learned that my cousin in law, who works at a hospital and tours LTC facilities to educate people about Covid just got his vaccine. He told me that it feels and is done the same way a Flu shot is given, and has told me it has less ingredients than it too. Just thought I'd share that, because I thought that was really interesting.
> 
> Anyway, here's the chapter everyone's been waiting for. I've certainly been excited to publish it, and moving onto the next era of Kara and Ivar's life. Hope you enjoy!

At the first signs of spring, Ivar took no hesitation in leaving the city. He loathed the winter - it made walking on his crutches difficult, and crawling on frozen ground wasn't preferred. Sure, if the snow was slick like ice, it made him glide much faster, but at the cost of many frost bites on his stomach, chest, thighs and fingers. To avoid looking like a fool slipping around on soft snow and black ice, Ivar had no choice but remain close to home for the winter seasons. Unfortunately, winter also made people stay inside more often, including his brother, Sigurd and his bloody once the earth soaked up the last remnants of snow, Ivar grabbed his gear and left for the forest towards the training area. None of his brothers followed him or met him there, which he was relieved for. While his love for his brothers could not be doubted (arguably), he often preferred his own company. He cherished the times he spent with them, even Sigurd on some level, but they could never understand him for what he was - a cripple. He saw the world from the ground, and there was that creeping insecurity that everything they did together, all he did just weighed them down. He was the youngest, yes, but around them, he felt like a child. Every act of success and skill seemed to be praised by Ubbe, like he was congratulating a child. Hvitserk was at least treating him like a man, but he also felt as if he held back for Ivar's benefit. As for Sigurd, well, at least Sigurd never held back, but he never let Ivar forget he was a cripple. With Bjorn, it was different… Bjorn was old enough to be his father, and he held nothing back when it came to Ivar. He was, however, infuriating when he was trying to impart wisdom; wisdom that Ivar often questioned.

And so, Ivar liked training alone. The only expectations he needed to exceed was his own, and when he was alone, he was able to be himself. He was able to experiment with the limitations of his body without the judging eyes of his able-bodied brothers.

Additionally, the silence was a bonus. Bjorn had returned a couple of days ago along with his brood. He hadn't seen him since the beginning of winter, and Ivar admitted that he missed him. While Floki had filled the fatherless void when Ragnar had disappeared, Bjorn was biologically the closest thing to a father Ivar had. He, at least, looked like Ragnar. Not to mention Bjorn was the balance he needed when it came to his mother. However, Bjorn's children were all young, save for his step-son, and therefore loud and annoying. The Longhouse had never been louder since their return, and it wasn't like he had a moment to sit with his eldest brother and catch up on his trip to Hedeby. Bjorn seemed rather distracted when he returned, avoiding questions about Hedeby and Lagertha from Ubbe and Hvitserk.

Ivar spent the better part of the early morning hours in the training area, until he fell on the ground, his body completely spent. His arms, most of all, were dead weight by the end. He was used to exhausting those appendages until they felt disconnected from his body. Instead of his feet, his arms were his real roots and therefore his link to his survival. Rest was needed after hours of moving every muscle in his arms and shoulders, and Ivar couldn't help himself from falling asleep right there on the ground.

He didn't realize he was sleeping until he found himself in that dream. It had always begun and ended the same. He was sitting in a tree on a hill, how he was able to get there he wasn't sure. The sky was bright and cloudless and he would sit there, staring at the horizon peacefully. But that was always disturbed as dark clouds began to gather around the edges of the sky, and then it lit up with Thor's lightning. The ocean would come alive and move against the storm. The winds would pick up, and the branch he sat on would sway and groan until it snapped under his weight. Then, Ivar would fall and fall for what seemed like forever. It was almost like he was sinking into the ocean and he couldn't move any of his limbs, not even his arms.

And just when he seemed all was lost, there was someone that came after him, arms outreached, and face obscured by darkness. Ivar never could make out who this person was, but there they were, falling after him, trying to reach him, and every time, his dream would end before they could.

However, this time it was different. Sheet lightning lit up the sky and the bright light aided Ivar into seeing the figure of a woman with curtains of red flying behind her. The sight of her face ignited something in his chest he didn't quite understand. Ivar blinked, and then she was covered by the darkness that blurred her face from him. This time he couldn't help but notice that she was closer to him. So close that he was just able to feel her finger tips brush against his own.

_**Ivar!** _

Ivar awoke abruptly with a sharp intake of air. His entire body was tense and weighed down from laying on his back. For a few seconds he couldn't move a muscle and was forced to look at the ceiling of the forest that seemed to form a face he hadn't noticed before. Then he blinked and it was gone. After that, he gradually was able to move from the ground. He moved one hand to his chest where a thread of rope hung around his neck, and at the end a wooden pendant of a rune.

He had gripped the pendant many times before to ground him after such odd dreams and hallucinations. Ivar also had no idea how it came to be in his possession, but he found it on him the day after he woke up from his coma. He hadn't asked his mother about it, because every time he asked what had happened over the time he had missed, she would be vague about it. She only ever talked about how Harbard had saved him. When Ivar asked how he got injured in the first place, she very bitterly replied that it was a jealous woman who wanted to take revenge after losing her own son. Ivar's brothers had a different story, but Aslaug made sure that details were kept from him. So this rune pendant was kept a secret from his mother, for fear that her seeing it would force her to take it away from him. It was the only link Ivar had to his forgotten past, and somehow he knew it was significant. He felt energy radiated from it every time he gripped it in his palm.

After some time sitting on the ground, he decided to call it a day and go back home. He crawled back to the tree stump to sit on it and gather his things, and then hauled himself up using his crutch. By the time he started to retreat out of the area, it was high noon. The emptiness of the forest was welcoming, though peculiar at this time. He wasn't that far out of the city, and during this trek he would sometimes pass by foragers and children playing around the trees. Instead, the only sounds were the gentle breeze and distant chirps of birds.

But despite this silent peace, he could feel a mute shift in the branches that were above him. He spotted shadows on the ground. The sun was blocked by foliage and branches, however the leaves left a hue of green on the floor. There was a mass that seemed out of place, but otherwise unnoticeable if he hadn't been aware of his surroundings. Ivar's fingers reached up to his shoulder where he could feel the draw string of his bow, and then he slowed down.

Not giving a moment's hesitation, Ivar dropped his crutch, grabbed his bow, spun around and had an arrow knocked and released in a blink of an eye.

There was a yelp that came with the shudder of the tree he aimed at. Leaves fell on the ground and the branches tousled around. Ivar nearly lost his balance in the maneuver he pulled, so he leaned his back against a tree and quickly knocked another arrow, but didn't release it. Instead, he aimed it at the branches that moved.

"Show yourself!" He yelled from the ground. The response he got was a curse and a grunt. He repeated himself. "I've got another arrow for your head!"

"If I show myself, you'd just have a better aim _for_ my head!"

Ivar blinked when he heard that it was a woman's voice, but his hand remained steady and his eyes trained at the spot in the trees.

"I have enough arrows to pin you against the tree, if I need to. You might as well face death, unless you want to be remembered as a nameless coward in a tree."

His answer was silence and he scowled. Without remorse, he let his arrow loose. To his chagrin, he heard no sounds of pain, just the whistle of his arrows as they flew through the branches and leaves. He flared his nose and went to grab another arrow from the quiver at his hip, but found it empty. He turned to look at it with confusion - he had at least 12 when he left training.

"You mean these arrows?"

A great jolt of surprise went down his spin at the proximity of the woman's voice. Ivar's head spun around, and he nearly stumbled on the ground at the sight. Hanging upside down like a red bat was a woman in hunter's clothing. She hung on a branch less than a foot above his head, using the back of her knees to grip the tree with ease. He suddenly had a strong feeling that this happened before, but he quickly pushed that feeling away to glare at the woman. She held on the bundle of arrows with a cocky grin on her freckled face.

His eyes traveled down her arm to the open wound on her shoulder, which coated her tunic with blood. Red droplets dripped liberally on the ground under her. How in Midgard did she get there and grab his arrows without him knowing?

A new found annoyance bubbled in his chest, and his scowl deepened as he whipped out his dagger placed the tip just under her chin.

"Why are you following me?"

Due to her closeness, he had no choice but to look her straight in the eyes. A stray sunray peaked through the crack of the forest ceiling and hit her right eye and down to the crown of her head, showing him how vibrant her hair actually was. That feeling that this has happened before seemed to grow the longer he stared at her.

"I wasn't," she answered, fiddling with the arrows in her fist. "I was looking for a game, and you rudely shot an arrow at me."

Ivar snorted at her lie, "You were moving alongside me in the branches."

She was silent for a moment at his statement. He seemed to catch her in her lie, but she seemed unperturbed by it, or by the knife under her chin. Suddenly, the corner of her mouth quirked up in a smirk.

"I'm not afraid of you."

" _All I need to do is move five feet to the left or climb back in this tree. Besides, you came up here unarmed, which was stupid of you."_

Ivar's head suddenly felt light, like a breeze came in and tried to blow it off his shoulders. He became unsteady, causing him to unwillingly pull away to steady himself. His free hand moved to touch his head, to a scar that disappeared into his hairline. In the brief moments of his eyes fluttering, he lost sight of the girl.

"Are you alright?" he heard her voice, which seemed to ground him a bit. His hand went to grab the rune around his neck instinctively, but his other still clenched the hilt of the dagger.

When his eyes focused on her, he was slightly taken back by her sudden appearance on the ground, standing before him. She was shorter than he had assumed, but that was probably because she hung above him seconds ago. The top of her head reach his own chin, and that made her even less intimidating than some annoying bird of prey in a tree.

"I am fine," he practically hissed. "Give me my arrows."

"You are just as demanding as ever," she quipped, handing him his property.

Ivar furrowed his brow at her as he tore the arrows from her hand and shoved them back into his quiver. "Why do you speak as if we are familiar with each other?" He limply pointed the dagger at her nonchalant form. "Do you even know who I am?"

"You are Ivar the Boneless," she said with ease, arms swinging behind her.

He couldn't stop himself from narrowing his eyes in suspicion. Ivar then gave a soft laugh and a tilt of his head, "You see a cripple, and you just assume that he is Ivar the Boneless?"

" _No_ ," she replied with pursed lips as she elongated the word. "I see Ivar the Boneless, and I assume that is Ivar the Boneless."

Ivar was silent at this, but he was now both amused and curious by the red-haired tree-dwelling troll. He adjusted his legs so he could keep his center balanced to cross his arms. "You know me," he began, and then finished with raised eyebrows. "But I do not know you."

It was her time to laugh, but it came through her nose as her lips stretched into a genuine smile. "You do," she gave a half shrug. "I am an old friend of your brothers."

"Which one?"

"All of them."

His eyes narrowed at her again, and then he tilted his head in the other direction. He rolled his tongue around in his mouth as if tasting the potential words to use. Alas, she confused him. A thought ran through his head that perhaps she was someone that was introduced to him during the gap in his memory. Her eyes did seem familiar to him, and she gave him an unrecognizable feeling in his gut and head that he wasn't too pleased with.

Suddenly, Ivar's eyes flickered to her shoulder. The stain of blood was larger.

He nodded at it, "You're bleeding."

"Well, that _is_ your fault," she replied after looking at it with bemusement. She turned back at him with a half smile, "But I suppose I should go tend to it." There was a beat after she said this, her mouth slightly open as if she were going to say something, but the look in her eye told him her mind was rolling around with thoughts. Briefly, he noticed that her eyes glanced down to his lips and then quickly away from him.

With a sharp turn, a silent laugh on her lips, and a hand on her bleeding shoulder, she started to walk away from him.

"It was nice seeing you again, Ivar."

"You never told me your name!" He called out to her retreating form.

She stopped walking and then looked over her shoulder at him, "It's Kára."

**X X X**

Ivar wasn't sure why, but he was compelled to walk to Floki's house at the mouth of the river. Perhaps it was because it was closer than the city, or perhaps his mind burned with questions that he needed to be answered right away. Since Ragnar had left him, it was Floki who took the reins of mentor, like a father should. He lectured him of the gods, and how to be viking. Ivar felt that the bond he had with Floki was unlike the bond he had with his brothers. He envied them, he hated to admit, so there was always a foot in the door that stopped him from fully opening up to them. Floki was different. He felt completely safe with him in all regards.

On his trek there, Ivar couldn't help but allow his thoughts to linger on the girl in the forest he met just minutes ago. Kára. He didn't know a Kára, and yet he felt that the name was familiar to him. She had mentioned she was a friend of her brothers; perhaps they had mentioned her in passing and he hadn't fully paid attention. Though she seemed to know him well enough, not to mention that Ivar thought he knew everyone his brothers knew, at least for Ubbe, Hvitserk, and Sigurd. There was really only one explanation, and that was the missing piece in his memory. She was obviously part of that time in his life, but he doubted it was significant. She couldn't be much older than him, if not younger. He had no friends as a child, especially no female friends.

They were all afraid of him.

" _I'm not afraid of you."_

" _How very stupid of you, then. After all, I did kill a boy for less of a reason. You did maim me with your stupid arrow. You_ should _be afraid of me."_

Ivar grimaced and stopped at the mouth of the forest. His shoulder gave an odd piercing ach, and his hand moved over to the spot to rub it. A little scar he had no recollection of obtaining was on that shoulder, but he had just assumed it came from the fall. He moved his hand to his head as it threatened to float away again. Ivar stood there, not realizing he had already made it to Floki and Helga's until he heard the latter's voice call his name.

"Ivar? What are you doing standing there?" Helga asked from her garden. When she saw him clenching his head, she stood up and briskly walked over to him. "Are you alright?"

"I- My head," He felt her gentle hands on his forearms and then she folded her arm under his, and began guiding him closer to the house.

"Sit down, I will get you something to drink," she told him.

Ivar collapsed on a tree stump, dropping his crutch and spreading out his legs. He then bent and rested his forehead in his hands in an attempt to block out the sunlight from his sensitive eyes. Within seconds, Helga was back next to him with a horn of rain water, and he took it gratefully. He took a big gulp, but kept his head hung low.

"Where is Floki?"

"He is down the river fishing. He will be here soon."

Ivar nodded and drank more. It was a slow progress, but his head began to feel more anchored as the water processed through him. When he lifted his head, Helga was sitting on her knees, looking at him with concern.

"When was the last time you ate?" she asked, and he had to think about that.

"I had dagmal," he answered. He didn't elaborate, since all he had was dried fruit and a bit of bread. He was too eager to leave the Longhouse to get away from Bjorn's screaming children.

Helga gave a tsking sound and shook her head, "You should not work so hard in training." He supposed he gave away what he was doing by his gear and the flushed look on his face.

"I was fine all morning," it was a partial lie, but he was never fully fine on any day. "The headache began when an annoying little red bird disturbed my silence."

Helga looked at him with an amused brow, "A little bird caused your head to ache?"

Ivar took another gulp of water and heavily rolled his eyes, "A girl stalked me in the trees and then stole my arrows."

"A girl?" The amusement was still on her face, but now it was more inquisitive.

Ivar nodded and pursed his lips as he swallowed some more water. He looked at Helga and tilted his head, "She claimed to know my brothers, and knew me by name."

"An old friend, perhaps," Helga reasoned. "What did she look like? Maybe I knew her."

"She had red hair and green eyes, and told me her name was Kára…" He gave a light shrug as he trailed off. That was when he noticed Helga's brow rising into one of surprise. His own furrowed as he regarded the reaction.

"Did you say Kára?"

Instead of answering, Ivar had his own question. "You know her?"

Helga sat in front of him in full conflict. She badly wanted to tell him everything that happened before his accident; to tell him stories of him and the girl known as Kára. How she and him would spend hours just fletching arrows and then shooting them at the floating boats that Floki would make. She wished she was like Hulda; she could heal his mind and bring back his memories. But Aslaug was her queen, and she had sworn she would not tell Ivar of Hulda or her daughter, Ivar's closest and only friend. The girl he saved from drowning, and the girl who saved him from drowning.

Her mouth was open, but she could barely make a sound before the unsaid words were interrupted by her husband.

"Ivar!" Floki called as he approached the two from the river. A bucket of trout in one hand, and fishing gear in the other. The older man trudged over to the two and looked at Helga's wide eyes before returning them to Ivar. "Are we sharing stories without me?"

"Ivar was just telling me of his morning," Helga stood up, dusting her hands on her apron. "I should get back to gardening. I will work on nattmal in a bit," she said as she took the bucket of fish from Floki's hand.

Floki followed her with a turn of his head and once she was too far to watch, he turned back to Ivar, and immediately dropped his things and plopped down on the ground. With a nudge at the boy's boot, he immediately asked what he was doing here. "Or were you just too lazy to go back home?"

Ivar rolled his eyes, "I actually came to talk to you about something important, believe it or not."

"Is that so?"

Ivar adjusted his legs so they were together, and he hunched down after folding his arms against his stomach. He leveled his eyes with his mentor as he thought of his words several times in seconds. There were so many questions, he didn't know what to choose from and how to word them. He supposed the easiest one would be…

"What happened before I lost my memory?"

Floki's eyebrows shot to his hairline, "Ivar, you've asked me this many times before-"

"And I feel like I do not get the real answer," Ivar spoke impatiently. "There is a missing piece… in my head. I keep on having these headaches because of it. I keep...hearing conversations, and seeing faces I do not remember or recognize. Floki, I know Aslaug is keeping everyone from telling me everything that happened before the accident. And this-" he reached into his tunic and yanked at the thread with the rune pendant. "Where did it come from, because I did not have it before."

Floki's wise eyes moved from Ivar's face to the rune he presented. With a fluid motion, he raised his hand and gently plucked the rune and examined it deeply. A heavy sigh through his nose broke the silence, and he slowly moved his gaze back at the boy.

"I made a promise to the queen," Floki admitted, still slowly twirling the wooden rune in his fingers. Ivar's jaw hardened at those words, but the man continued. "That I would take care of you, and teach you the ways of the gods and how to be viking. If there is a way to rid you of these headaches, Ivar, there is only one person in all of Midgard that can help you achieve that, and give you the answers you want." He lifted the rune closer to Ivar's nose, "The person who gave you this is a volva; a sorceress of healing capabilities. She is known as the Red Woman, and she is not far from here."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I should probably say that this chapter and the next will be mostly Ivar-centric, because we need to have a catch up with him. But, I won't be lingering it too much. Next chapter you will still have Kara and Ivar together, and after it, it will start to gain traction for the two. I had to do a little re-writing, because by the end of the next chapter, I was going in a different direction then I intended, and its for the best. That's probably why I wasnt able to publish this chapter as early as I wanted.
> 
> I should also state that chapters may be shorter, but I think that is also for the best, because that means I'll be publishing faster, or at least I hope so.
> 
> Happy Readings!


	22. 21: the missing piece

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ivar learns some things about his forgotten past.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't believe I got this chapter out after a week from the last one. I'm really excited for you to read chapter 22. It's bit on the longer side, but it's all one scene. I've also figured how I'm going to continue with the story, since before I had a general idea of what was going to happen, with key moments set in stone. I'll explain in detail at the end of the chapter, but now that I've figured everything out, it's giving me more motivation to write.
> 
> I also have an important note:
> 
> **PLEASE NO VIKING S6B SPOILERS IN THE REVIEWS/COMMENTS**
> 
> My Amazon Prime does not have the season out (and all viking seasons are behind a paywall as well), so I have to watch it weekly on History. I'm sure a lot of other people have to do the same. So please keep this fic spoiler free in the reviews. I've already encountered some spoilers so far and it made me uncharacteristically angry XD.

Ivar's thoughts lingered over the conversation he had with Floki the day prior. He was sitting on a stool outside of the smithy while his brothers were working on adjustments on new gear in preparation for raids this summer. Ivar had yet to join them to sea, but alas his fear of the ocean, his inability to swim, and his doubts over his competence as a warrior and viking prevented him from joining them. That, and his overbearing mother.

His fingers were playing with the rune around his neck while his mind on this mysterious "Red Woman". He had heard rumours of a witch that lived in the forest, but it came off as an urban legend; a tale told to scare children to stay away from the forest at night. He did acutely remember his mother's reaction when someone casually brought up a witch in the forest in a conversation a while back. She answered with haste and conviction, and said it was just a crazy old woman that lived childless and alone. However, there was also a couple that claimed that a few years ago, the witch in the wood had given them advice on how to conceive, and as a result, they had a daughter. Ivar wondered if this was the same woman.

"Ivar," Ubbe snapped his fingers in front of his nose.

He blinked rapidly and looked over at his brother, "What?"

"Do you want to come or not?" Ubbe's eyebrows were at his hairline before they furrowed upon realizing that Ivar had not paid attention to anything that was said. This was confirmed when Ivar asked where.

"Hunting," he said. "We were planning to go up to the cabin to spend a few days hunting."

Ivar's mouth made a 'o' shape as he leaned back and rested his hands on his knees, "Yes, I will join you." He nodded.

"What has your mind hostage?" Ubbe asked.

"Perhaps he is fantasizing about Midsummer this year," Hvitserk piped from behind him. "It is the best time of year. All the women dancing around a giant pole… I don't blame him from getting lost in thought."

Ubbe slowly turned to his other brother with a deadpan look, "Is it him or you that is fantasizing about Midsummer?"

With the approach of spring, the holiday was soon approaching. It was a day of excitement for various reasons. For Hvitserk, it was the anticipation of sex, since single women during this time seemed to get more desperate during Midsummer. For Ubbe, though, after Midsummer the raids would begin. After spending a long winter at home, he was anxious for another adventure.

Turning back to Ivar, Ubbe repeated the same question, "What is on your mind, Ivar?"

Midsummer was far from his mind, that was for sure. He did not care to admit this, not even to himself, but he had not laid with a woman yet, and he knew that his brothers had multiple times over the last few years. There weren't any women that were willing to have sex with a cripple, even if he was a prince; even if he was a son of Ragnar. During the Midsummer activities, he tended to remain in the longhouse with his mother, and then retreat to bed earlier than most. He really did not like the holiday, for it reminded him how alone he was. How he could never be loved by a woman the way a man should be.

"I have been thinking about what I do not remember," Ivar replied, subconsciously moving his hand to his mouth to nibble the nail of his thumb.

Ubbe shared a look between Hvitserk and Sigurd, and then back to his youngest brother. "Why is that? There is not much to remember… All that happened, we already shared with you."

Ivar tilted his head up at him, a knowing smirk on his face, "I do not think that is true. I think all of you have been keeping things from me, because mother does not want me to know."

Hvitserk quirked an eyebrow at this, glancing at Ubbe with uncertainty. He leaned against a wooden pillar behind Ivar and crossed his arms, "What makes you say this?"

"When I left training yesterday, I crossed paths with a girl who claims to be a friend of my brothers," it was Ivar's turn to cross his arms. "She called herself Kára, and apparently I knew her."

The silence was tense and immediate. Ivar was keenly aware of the shared looks they gave each other and how their posture straightened. But, even more, the way Ubbe's eyes widened was always a give away.

He gave them one glance each before resting on Ubbe, "I did, didn't I?"

There was clear hesitation with Ubbe, but there wasn't with Sigurd. The blonde straightened up in the chair he sat on in the background, his voice pulling Ivar's attention immediately to him.

"Tell him already," Sigurd barked. "I'm tired of walking on eggs about this topic already."

Ubbe turned to to Sigurd with a look of disapproval, "Mother wouldn't want -"

At that, Sigurd stood up from his chair and walked over to them with a heavy foot. He stood in front of Ubbe as he spoke with intensity, "Mother has sheltered him long enough."

"What is it?" Ivar asked, hands on his knees, eyebrows knitted. He felt his veins pump with anxiety and anger that secrets were being held from him. His eyes darted between the three of them before landing on Sigurd.

The blonde started to speak much to Ubbe's chagrin.

"Kára Ulfsdóttir," he began, "She lived outside of the city with her mother. The two of you became annoyingly close and did everything together. She even trained with us."

Ivar frowned and his eyes were now looking at Ubbe, blue orbs filled with betrayal at the secrecy of what seemed like a significant detail about his missed time. He had no recollection of having any friends outside of his brothers. He had believed he lived his whole life completely alone; friendless and unliked. He always believed that his brothers merely tolerated him simply because they shared blood. If they had no ties with each other, they would have seen him like everyone else saw him: a cripple coddled by his mother.

"Why did you keep this from me?" He asked through gritted teeth.

Ubbe sighed heavily through his nose and sent a pointed glare at Sigurd, who simply carried his sour look. Ubbe returned his attention back to Ivar, and dropped his arms to his sides in defeat.

"We had promised mother we would not mention her… She said that the best thing for you is to pretend Kára did not exist."

"Why?"

"I do not know what happened. Hvitserk and I were in Paris, but…" He looked over at Sigurd, who chose this time to remain quiet. "From what we were told, she was the one who pushed you out of the tree, nearly killing you."

**X X X**

Bjorn had been lurking nearby as his brothers conversed. He had intended to join them, but their conversation made him slip into the shade and listen. He grit his jaw at Ubbe's words; how Kára was the one that pushed Ivar out of the tree. That was a lie fabricated by Aslaug, much like how she fabricated how Siggy died.

There was a time where he had respect for Aslaug; she was the daughter of the famed dragon slayer, Sigurd, and Brynhildr, the Valkyrie. In the end, she delivered what his father was promised by the gods, which was many sons. She was a different woman in the beginning, but somehow things changed. Perhaps Ivar had ripped out any light from her when he came into the world. Perhaps losing Ragnar's love made her bitter. Perhaps it was the mysterious Harbard that had enchanted her into a state of constant dissatisfaction. Whatever the case, Bjorn was not a fan of the woman; if he had a choice, he would have seized Kattegat as soon as his father left them. Though the love he had for his brothers was far too strong to do that to them, not to mention he knew that his mother had her eyes on Kattegat. However, there was his own selfish reasons: he was not ready to take the title of King, at least not yet. He still had a world to explore, and the map he had acquired from Paris still occupied his mind on most nights.

There were some heated words exchanged, and Bjorn watched with a firm frown as Ivar picked up his crutch and left them as fast as his weak legs would allow. Bjorn's eyes stayed glued on him while his ears remained on his three other younger brothers.

"You just had to open your big mouth, Sigurd," came Ubbe's reprimanding voice as he gave the boy a quick whip to the arm with the back of his hand. "If mother finds out about this, I will blame you."

Sigurd rolled his eyes, "It was about time that he knew, and you know it. Mother coddles him so much and acts as if he is still a child. So he acts like one. It is time that he grew up."

Bjorn folded his arms over his chest and remained silent in the shadows, listening to every word.

"Hvitserk?" The middle brother was awfully quiet, Ubbe had noticed.

At his name, Hvitserk looked up with his lips pursed in thought. "He was going to find out eventually, Ubbe," he reasoned. "And if what he said was true, and Kára is back… It is better that he knew before mother found out she has returned."

"She won't find out," Bjorn spoke, emerging from his hiding spot, startling his brothers with his sudden appearance.

"Bjorn," Ubbe spoke first, eyes wide. "How much did you -"

"Enough," he spoke, folding his hands at his front in an imposing form. "Aslaug will not know that Kára is back in Kattegat, nor will she find out that Ivar has met her."

"You knew she was here," Hvitserk's words came as a statement.

"I did. I was reunited with her in Hedeby. She is one of Lagertha's shieldmaidens," at this news, the three men's brows raised in surprise. Bjorn continued, "I told her to come back to Kattegat. It is her home."

"Mother exiled her," Sigurd stated matter-of-factly with his arms firmly crossed against his chest. "It is no longer her home."

Bjorn snapped, "She had no authority to exile her. Father would not have, and had he stayed he would have retracted that order immediately."

"Father is not here, Bjorn," Ubbe spoke, his voice low but steady. "He may never come back. Aslaug is Queen of Kattegat."

"A title she only holds by marriage, " Bjorn shot back. "Ragnar is not dead yet. And before you ask, I know this because Kára is the last person to see him."

This news was collectively seen with shock and intrigue. No one from Kattegat - that they knew of - heard anything from Ragnar. Not a whisper, not a rumour, not a sighting. Some believed he walked towards his death. Some believed that he killed himself. Others believed he simply went by another name, and assumed a new identity all together. What _was_ certain was that Ragnar abandoned Kattegat, and abandoned his family in the process. The respect for Ragnar Lothbrok was nearly lost if not lost all together.

Ubbe stepped forward, "Kára knows where he is?"

"Not anymore. But she and her mother are the reason why he is still alive. That is why I know Ragnar would not approve of what Aslaug has done. Kára belongs in Kattegat, and I think we all agree that Ivar has become considerably less tolerable ever since she left."

There were no words exchanged, but the side glances they shared spoke volumes. It was true, Ivar seemed to change when he met Kára. But ever since he lost his memory, his entitlement seemed to shoot up to the skies. They couldn't understand why, even if it was staring them right in the face. Kára is what pushed Ivar to be a better person. Now, though, they could see the complete opposite happening. Their love for their youngest brother was still true, but for Sigurd, and even Hvitserk, he was a lost cause. Ubbe felt differently. He still saw the good in Ivar when no one else did.

"How do we keep mother from knowing Kára is here?" Hvitserk questioned. "There aren't a lot of young red-headed women here -"

"Did your rounds, have you?" Sigurd interrupted.

Hvitserk merely shot him a look, then gave an impish smirk.

"I'll take care of that," Bjorn responded. "All you have to do is make sure that her name is not mentioned around Aslaug."

"For how long? Until Ivar grows grey hair and looks like a dried up cranberry?" Sigurd asks, his tone betraying his obvious disapproval of putting any effort in making Ivar happy. "We cannot carry this plan forever, Bjorn."

"Sigurd is right," Ubbe agreed, eyes darting from him and back to Bjorn. "Just like Ivar, Aslaug will find out eventually."

Bjorn nodded, "And when that happens, it will no longer be her problem."

Ubbe's head tilted his head at his brother, but said nothing.

**X X X**

Ivar wasn't paying attention to where he was going, or how long he had been retreating from Kattegat. His mind was muddled with all this new information. He couldn't help himself from looking back to all the odd moments and slips that were made around him. The distinct glares from Aslaug to one of his brothers. Hushed conversations that stopped when approached. He knew that it was about him and it infuriated that he didn't know. But now he did.

He wasn't sure who he was mad at more: His brothers for lying, his mother for shielding him from yet another thing, or the bitch who pushed him out of the tree and caused him to lose his memory. He felt a surge of vengeance go through him… He would not have been in this situation hadn't it been for her.

Ivar began breathing heavily through his flared nostrils. His movements became quicker and more forceful as he continued moving through the trees with no direction. Was that why she was following him the other day? Did she intend to kill him the first time and wanted to finish the job? Or was she someone who took joy in watching him suffer? A bully from his past that he had forgotten, and that is why his mother shielded him from it, and rightfully so.

He sharply stopped, eyes glaring into nothing in particular. If that were the case, did Ivar really want to remember the memories he lost? Did he want to know who Kára was, and what she did to him to warrant his mother making everyone hide things from him? Yes, yes he did. He was a child at the time, and he may have not been able to defend himself then, even from a girl, but he was a man now. He would take his revenge against this Kára… For everything she put him through. For every headache, for every nightmare, for every faint spell, for every second he was lost in the fog of forgotten memories.

Ivar grit his jaw and lifted his head to take a sharp turn around to head back to Kattegat, but he immediately paused when he caught something in the shadows amongst the trees. Against the dark green canvas was a cloaked figure. A red cloaked figure.

The muscles in his face relaxed as he watched the stranger. Tall, willowy, and face obscured by the shadow of their hood. Something burned on his chest, and he instinctively moved his fingers to the rune around his neck.

" _She is known as the Red Woman, and she is not far from here."_

Floki's words came to mind. Ivar's jaw went slack as he straightened his neck, never allowing his eyes to stray from the cloaked figure. It suddenly moved, turning their head to the side, exposing a distinct profile. The little moonlight that peaked through the foliage betrayed the pale feminine nose and lips, but he saw nothing else.

_It's her_...

The Red Woman began to walk away, making no noise, and appearing to float above the forest ground.

"Wait!" Ivar clenched onto his crutches and started to walk towards her. He sped up as she disappeared behind a tree, and once he caught up to it, he saw that she was now farther away, this time looking at him from a great distance.

"Are you the witch in the wood?!" Ivar called out, but received no answer. He continued to follow her, and just when he felt he could reach her on time, she started to walk away again. This time, he could see the ends of her red robes filter through the tree trunks. He feverishly followed them, desperate to not lose sight of her.

Floki had given him general directions of where the Red Woman was. He spoke of a house that was hidden under a grassy mound, and a door with three cats carved into it. Based on the directions Floki had given him, it seemed to be close by, but he felt that he should have passed by it at least once over the last few years. He had no idea of this place, but according to the Boatswain, he had been there before.

He went on following the cloaked woman for some time. It felt like a while, but it could've been just a few short moments. Eventually, the trees started to thin out, and he could smell the scent of a hearth nearby. When he looked around to the sky, he saw the trail of smoke coming from a source just a short distance away. Ivar looked back in front of him, and startled when he saw the cloaked woman facing him less than ten feet away. Her eyes were shadowed, but he could see the mature features of her nose and mouth, and the curtains of red hair that blended in with her garb. He watched as her arm lifted, the bell sleeve of her robe reaching the ground, and a small pale hand poked out of the end. A slender finger pointed in the direction of the origin of the hearthfire. Ivar looked at her with knitted brows before moving his gaze to the direction she was pointing at. He could just barely make out the orange glow of light. When he turned back to her with his mouth open to ask a question, she was gone.

He turned back towards the direction that she pointed, and hesitated. His eyes fixated on the orange glow in the distance, which was briefly obscured by a shadow that passed by it. Gritting his teeth, Ivar adjusted the crutch under his arm and went towards it. It wasn't that far away; just a few moments of weaving between trees and he found himself in a clearing. Dusk settled down in the forest, casting the area in a blue hue. The orange glow coming from the open window contrasted against the atmosphere, making it impossible to miss.

There it was; the house exactly as Floki described. The roof is covered in grass, making the house appear almost hidden in the earth. He could just make out the door, but could barely see the engravings on it from this distance and this low light. The light inside showed that someone was living in it - the witch? If it was the witch, then who was the woman in the red robes that led him here?

Ivar stepped closer and froze when he heard a huff. There was a horse, he realized, shuffling around in a small make-shift pen. He looked at Ivar lazily while he chewed on grass that was ripped from the low part of the roof. Ivar kept his eyes on the animal as he crept closer to the house, expecting the horse to react to him. It didn't for the most part, but when Ivar got within arms reach of the door, it neighed loudly.

Almost instantly, the door swung open and he was staring at the point of an arrow. He froze, but then allowed his eyes to focus on the silhouette of the wielder until he recognized the features. The amber light from inside highlighted her nose and the whites of her eyes, while the blue of the night shadowed her brow and dimmed the vibrance of her hair to a point where it almost looked purple at first glance.

Now he knew why he was led here. The Red Woman handed her to him on a silver platter.

" _You!_ " He barked as he whipped out his long dagger and pointed at her.

Kára responded by lowering her bow and looking at him with furrowed eyebrows, face filled with confusion. She wasn't expecting him. She was expecting someone to stumble upon the house eventually, like a raider or a scavenger. To be quite honest, she wasn't sure when she would see Ivar again after encountering him in the forest the other day. She thought, if she could gather up the courage, she would seek him out herself. But now he was at her doorstep, with the hearth fire reflected in his wildly blue eyes, pointing a dagger at her and looking particularly angry.

"Now look who is doing the stalking-" she commented, not knowing what else to say from the absurd manner he decided to visit. Alas, he cut her off, and his words further caught her off guard.

"I am here for revenge," he spoke firmly, eyes unblinking.

_Odin, he's gone mad, hasn't he?_ Kára couldn't help but think, since she was unsure of what to say. She still held her bow, but the arrow fell loose in her fingers. If it were possible, her brows furrowed deeper at him.

"You're the one who shot me-"

"You know why I am here," he interrupted her again. "You are the reason why I cannot remember _anything_."

That made her mouth drop, her brow to relax, and the bow to drop to her side. The softening of her features told Ivar everything he needed to know: confirmation. Guilt. He was right… His brothers were right.

Ivar took advantage of the reaction, and he lurched forward, pointing the dagger at the contour between her neck and jaw. He looked down at her like an angry viper, nose hovering over her as she stood frozen under his height. How did such a small girl get the best of him all those years ago?

"Ivar-"

"Shut. Up," he breathed, twisted the tip of his knife against her skin. He could feel the bob of her throat as she swallowed. "I lost my memory. You can't imagine what that feels like... Having a whole era of your life simply… gone."

Kára pursed her lips as she felt her nose tingle and her eyes sting. _Do not cry!_ She internally yelled at herself. She spent years controlling her weakest emotions in the face of danger such as this. But he was pulling on all the right strings and he had no idea. The guilt never went away. The scar was always there, but now it felt like a fresh wound that he was digging into with the very dagger he pressed against her throat.

"You will pay for pushing me out of that tree, _Kára..."_

Her mouth opened at his words, her face now went from guilt to confusion, or a rare combination of the two. With little room she was able to give herself with a knife to her throat, Kára shook her head.

"I did not push you, Ivar," her voice was small. She was still trying to swallow down the pit in her throat that threatened to push all her emotion to the surface.

" _Don't_ lie to me!" He barked louder, causing the horse to pace and huff irritably in the background. "Ubbe told me everything."

"He was not even there-!" She protested, but was interrupted when the tip of the knife dug into her sensitive flesh, piercing the surface. She swallowed as she felt the warm trail of blood quickly fall down the curve of her neck. "Ivar! Please. We were in the tree together… You wanted to see what it felt like to be- The branch fell, and-and you hit your head on a rock. I wouldn-would never push you."

Ivar regarded her silently, his eyes never wavering its intenseness. The gloss of his eyes reflected the flickering fireplace behind her, but she was close enough to see how human he was beyond the anger.

When he didn't respond, she quickly added, "You were my only friend."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was sort of an in-between chapter, so it is a bit on the short side. Though, it's worth it because next chapter is longer and it was probably my favourite chapter to write in terms of Kara and Ivar scenes, haha.
> 
> So I just wanted to let you guys know where I'm gonna go with this story, in terms of format and length, etc. Originally this was going to be one long fic, spanning through all the seasons, but I've decided against that for a simple reason, and that reason is that the tone of the story greatly shifts after a certain point. So, I intend to end this fic at a earlier time, but follow it with a sequel that will take place directly after where this one ends. It's simply a new era of their lives and deserves its own summary and title, which I've already figured out.
> 
> However, one thing I will say that I will be taking some time between the end of this chapter and the beginning of the sequel, as sort of a break. It will give me an opportunity to format the sequel properly, as well as work on other things I've wanted to do that aren't Vikings related. But don't fret, this series isnt ending any time soon. I still have a lot of put into it, but in my POV, I can see the end now, and it gives me better idea of how many chapters this story will have (which I wont share XD - it's a surprise)
> 
> One last thing - I've used a model to cast as Kara, but she has very few pictures. I eventually found an actress I like, and I will eventually be converting most of Kara's pictures to her. Eleanor Tomlinson will be my headcanon cast for Kara, and I'll be using her a lot as of now, but youre free to see her as anyone else you wish. But those of you who are visual readers, that's who I'll be using. I will eventually be making a new book cover, because I've never been fully satisfied with the one I made in the first place.
> 
> Other than a a new board in the Pinterest for gifs (non spoilery), there isn't any other news!
> 
> Happy Reading, and stay safe!


	23. 22: the downpour

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ivar and Kara converse over a bowl of stew.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, another update! I hope I can keep up with this streak. I've been writing notes while I'm at work, which has helped me organize my thoughts for each chapter.
> 
> Don't have a lot of updates, other than a very special one! I made a new book cover for this fic! Now Archive doesn't include a book cover with the summary like Wattpad and FF does, so I will be including it in this chapter. The one I made initially, though I don't believe I posted it on here, I was never overly fond of. This time I ended up creating Kara by merging Kathryn Winnick and Eleanor Tomlinson together. I think it turned out better than I initially thought I would (: I will be posting the full book cover (as well as my old one) on my pinterest which is linked in my account biography.
> 
> Anywho, I'm excited for you guys to read this chapter. It was fun to write.

* * *

* * *

  


The nervous pacing and snorting of Dynja could be heard from the distance. All was still until a cold gust of wind washed through the clearing, rustling the leaves and causing the horse to neigh softly and shake his mane. Ivar still had Kára's head tilted up with his knife to her throat, but he was silent as he searched her eyes, and vice versa.

A single droplet of water fell on Ivar's brow, causing him to blink, but he didn't budge. The single motion was enough permission for Kára to make a move; she dropped the arrow she was still holding and brought her hand to his chest. He made a move to flinch away out of instinct, but paused when he glanced to see that she merely took a gentle hold of the wooden rune around his neck.

"My mother made this for you," she spoke in a small voice. "It was a gift after you saved my life."

She could feel the knife shift away from her throat and the intenseness of Ivar's blue eyes soften. Even the scowl he had on his face seemed to lose its edge. Two more droplets of water fell between them, one landing on Kára's nose, and the other on the edge of Ivar's dagger. He didn't speak, so she continued, hoping that her words brought something back to him, even if it's the smallest of memories.

"That day you told me that you wished that we knew each other longer," She gave a rueful smile, "If that were true, you might still remember me."

More droplets fell from the sky, this time catching Ivar's eyelashes and then dampening strands of hair around Kára's face. He finally pulled away and Kára rested her chin, but kept her eyes on him. She wished she could read his thoughts; he looked pensive and conflicted.

More droplets came from the sky, one by one hitting various surfaces around them until it became a full downpour. Ivar stood in the rain, looking at her,not for the first time, but for the thousandth.

" _Do not get ahead of yourself, Greenfoot,_ " He spoke softly, but loud enough that it was carried through the noise of the rain that drilled the ground around him. " _You are still annoying._ "

Kára held her breath.

"I do not know how," Ivar continued, the dagger slack in his hand which he left hanging to his side. "But I remember that."

She nodded, giving him another rueful smile. By now her hair was soaked to her skull. "You spent a lot of time with someone you found annoying."

Ivar's lips were in a firm line when he looked down at his hands, to the dagger. He sheathed it at his side and looked back at her.

"Were you really my friend?"

Kára nodded again, "You were the most important person in my life."

"Then why did you leave?"

"I didn't," she shook her head, moving her hand over her face to move the soaked hair away from her eyes. "We were exiled by Aslaug."

Ivar grit his jaw and tore his eyes away from her for a brief moment. He moved his hand over his mouth, feeling the agitation rise again, but this time directed at someone else. He swore under his breath, eyes glaring towards the direction of Kattegat.

"Ivar," Kára called through the rain. She placed her bow against the wall inside the house and then moved aside at the entrance. With a jerk of her head, she asked, "Do you want to come inside?"

His response was a short nod, barely noticeable with the rain that obscured everything. Neither realized how cold they were until the heat of the hearth kissed their cheeks. Kára quickly went to the far end of the house and checked to see how Dynja was fairing under the weather. He found shelter under the jutted roof, while taking liberal bites out of the hanging grass fringe. When she turned around, Ivar was just standing in the middle of the house, crutch under his arm, looking around the interior and its little effects. The roof seemed so much lower with him in it. A pillar nearly touched the top of his head.

"I do not have much to keep warm, but if you shed your damp clothes, we can dry them by the fire," Kára said as she made her way to the hearth, and lazily gestured towards the cauldron. "I made stew."

Ivar mutely nodded at it, and then at her. "You're soaked," he observed.

"So are you," she quirked an eyebrow before plopping down in a wooden chair and begun unstrapping her boots.

Ivar watched her for a long moment before he reluctantly started to shed his outerwear. He looked around him and spotted another chair, and pulled it over to him. He sat down, stretching out his legs, and laying his crutch against the arm rest. He couldn't help but look back at Kára, who placed her boots by the fire and started to shed off her capelet and then the apron underneath it.

Ivar sat in only his tunic, but kept his trousers on. His tunic was still damp, mostly around the sleeves, but he moved them up to his elbow. Kára also sat in her tunic, but it was long enough to reach her knees. He could see that she was wearing leggings underneath, tied at the seams with leather strings. When he looked up at her, she was looking at him.

"Are you cold?" She asked, not knowing what else to say.

"No," he answered simply, but continued to look at her. He was a bit chilly, but the hearth qualmed the shiver he would likely have had there been no heat at all.

Uncomfortable by the silence, Kára resorted to keeping herself busy by lifting her damp and heavy hair and twisting the water out of it. She then made quick and lazy work of plaiting it on her shoulder. She could still feel Ivar's eyes on her, and all she could do was look at the stew while it simmered. Truthfully, she hadn't thought what she would say, or what she would do if she were alone with Ivar.

Thankfully, he was the first person to break the silence.

"How did we meet?"

Kára abruptly looked up at him, a startled expression on her face before she processed his question. Leaning back in the chair, she rested her hands on her stomach and gave a soft sigh.

"We met during the spring of that year. I was in a tree-"

"Sounds familiar," Ivar tilted his head with a small smirk.

She couldn't help but match it, and then continued. "It was a tree on the hill that looked over the bay. You were sitting under it, and I was making arrows above you. One of my arrows fell and landed on your shoulder."

Instinctively Ivar's hand raised over to his shoulder, finger pressing through the thin layer of his tunic where he could feel the scar. "So you gave me this," he mocked. "What other scars have you've given me?"

Kára rolled her eyes, "Not enough."

Ivar's hand fell to his thigh and lowered his chin to his chest as he relaxed in the chair. "So, what happened after? Did I return the favour?"

"No," Kára replied faster than he liked. "You complained, then threatened me, and then I threatened you. And then-" she cut herself off. Ivar immediately noticed a shift in her appearance. Unease? Embarrassment?

"Then?"

Kára gave an uncomfortable laugh, hand moving over to her shoulder, where she had a bandage from where he shot her the other day. Ivar's eyes snapped to it after remembering, and now seeing the irony of it all. He also realized why bumping into her the other day felt so familiar to him. It's because it all happened before.

"I - um, gave you a kiss and then ran off," Kára finally admitted, a hand moving over to rub her neck and hide her face that she felt grow warm with a blush.

Truthfully, Ivar had not expected that. When he looked back to himself as a young lad, never saw himself as…, well, kiss-worthy. In fact, he hadn't kissed a girl - let alone other things - ever. Well, evidently he did, he just didn't remember it.

"You… _kissed_ me?" Ivar asked slowly to confirm. She nodded behind her hand, and all he could do was exaggeratingly roll his head to the side and allowed his wide eyes to rest on everything in the house that wasn't Kára. "Well, that is… interesting."

"To be fair, we hated each other from the beginning," she hurriedly continued. "You thought I owed you for cutting your shoulder, and so did my mom. She forced me to give you my bow, and I resented you for that."

His eyes narrowed at this bit of knowledge as he seemed to recollect a memory about a bow in his possession. "Was it slim with little curvy lines, like vines, on the upper and lower limbs?"

Her arms dropped to her lap as she looked at him incredulously, "Yes! You still have it?"

"I do not think I do now, but I do remember having it for some time. I just assumed my mother got it for me after I recovered from my head wound. I remember thinking it was quite beautiful, even if it was a little feminine for my taste. It was a good bow."

Kára smiled softly at this; a warmth in her chest blossomed. "Well thank you. I made it myself… it was my first bow."

Ivar smiled at her, but was silent. He allowed himself to fully examine her; her hair looked brighter in firelight. He didn't get a particularly good look in the forest. Her eyes seemed warmer too, but that could also be from the fire. She had freckles as well, which he initially thought were unsightly, but now that he could see them dusting around her slightly exposed shoulder and collarbone, it came as endearing. It was there that Ivar found himself staring at her chest, and that was when he finally noticed how sheer her tunic was. He could just barely make out the outline of a breast through it.

Quickly he averted his gaze and adjusted himself in the chair by pulling his legs closer to each other, and moving forward in his seat.

"So, if we did not like each other, how did we become friends?" He decided to continue the conversation, training his gaze to her face.

"You can thank Bjorn for that," she began with a half smile. "He invited me to train with you and your brothers one day. You were terrible at archery, so I took pity on you and taught you while we were alone."

"You mean to tell me that you were the one to teach me how to shoot a bow?" Ivar's brow raised. "And here I thought I had a natural talent to it."

She gave a soft laugh, which Ivar found himself enjoying. "Sorry to disappoint you, but that was all me."

"Any other of my talents I should thank you for?"

Kára tilted her head in thought. Ivar's eyes then glued itself to a stray droplet of water that came from her hair and trailed down to the curve of her neck. When she started to speak, he reverted his eyes back to her.

"Fletching? We did a lot of that together."

He gave a snort, "That is hardly a talent."

She mockingly narrowed her eyes at him, "It is if you do it right."

With a smile he shook his head, and then found himself looking over at the cauldron. He nodded over to it, "It looks like your stew is finished."

Kára perked at this and looked over at the bumbling pot, a wash of relief when she realized that it hadn't burnt. She stood up and grabbed an old rag to use to pull it out of the fire and place it on a sheet of stone.

"Are you hungry?"

"I do not know. Are you as good a cook as you are an archer?"

She shot him a look that could only be described as shame. Ivar gave a haughty laugh and she couldn't help herself from slapping his forearm playfully, "It's edible, alright?"

"Fine, I will have some of your edible stew. Only because it is still raining, and I have nowhere else to go."

Kára pursed her lips and sent him a mocking glare before going over to the otherside of the house to look for a couple of bowls, spoons, and hopefully a ladle. Ivar watched her the entire time; observing the way she moved around fallen pieces of furniture. Without all her outer carb on, he could now see how muscular her body was. He could see the form of her thighs through the thin fabric of the bottom of the tunic. They were thick and touched together. He could only imagine the damage she could do with them. Then, she stood on her toes to reach into a cupboard above her, and he was able to see the arch of her back and the muscles in her shoulders. As her tunic loosened around the back of her neck, he could vaguely see black markings of a tattoo he couldn't quite make out.

"Oh, thank Thor," he heard her exclaim as she pulled out a large wooden spoon from the cupboard. "Guess scavengers have no use for these." For her, that was a small victory. She had little property left over when she got back to her mother's house. She was lucky to have some utensils and dishware left over.

Coming back to the hearth, Kára sat on her knees and began distributing the stew into the two bowls and then handing Ivar's with a cloth underneath. She warned him that it was hot, but he wasn't afraid of burning himself. She watched him eye it with mild concern, and when he noticed her looking at him, he smiled innocently.

"Looks… _good._ "

Kára rolled her eyes and snorted before grabbing her own bowl and relaxing into the chair. She crossed her legs under her and cradled the bowl in her lap, and began to move around the contents of the stew with her spoon, waiting for it to cool off.

Ivar was moving it around liberally, trying to deduce what was in it. It was mostly brown, and he suspected he saw some potato in it, and some purple carrots. There was definitely meat in it, but he couldn't distinguish if it was pheasant or rabbit. When he looked up, she was taking a spoonful, blowing on it, and taking tentative sips. He looked back at his own spoon and decided he might as well get it over with. He took the smallest of portions and brought it up to eye level, then nose level, sniffed it, suppressed a grimace, and then carefully placed it on his pallet.

He chanced a look over at Kára, who was looking at him expectedly.

"Mmm," he said through a closed mouth. There was a moment as he took his time to swallow it. "That's very… edible."

Kára laughed at the look on his face, and then shook her head guilty. "I am sorry, I was never a good cook. I make food to survive, not to enjoy."

When Ivar went back to moving around the stew in his bowl, he tilted his head at it, as if trying to see it in a different perspective, but it only made it worse, somehow.

"Perhaps I should return the favour and teach you how to cook."

She blinked and tilted her head at him, "You can cook?" The question came with a tone of disbelief. "I find that hard to believe."

"What, because I am a man?"

"No, because you are a prince," she stated matter of factly.

He gave a half shrug, "I spend a lot of time in the Longhouse during winter. I try to keep myself busy."

"Well, if you are a better cook than you are an archer, then I am in good hands."

He chuckled, eyes darting over to her amusingly. "Your future husband will be kissing my boots in thanks."

Kára smiled, but fell silent. Her eyes cast down to her bowl as she tapped her spoon to get rid of the excess broth before bringing it to her mouth. After she swallowed, she shook her head.

"I do not think there will be a husband in my future," She found herself admitting. This very thought was something that came to mind every once in a while, but she had never voiced it until that moment. It was taboo for women not to marry at least once in their lifetime, especially when they are young and able to have children. Kára never saw herself as a mother, or a wife.

The admittance took Ivar off guard. He held the bowl in one hand and rested it on his knee as he regarded her closely. "Why do you say that?" He tilted his head at her. "You are young, able-bodied, and, I suppose, reasonably attractive-"

Kára raised an eyebrow at him.

"- Some men like redheads. My brother, Hvitserk, for example," he quickly added.

"What about you, Ivar?"

"What about me?"

"Are you one of the men that like redheads?"

"You are avoiding my question-"

"You are avoiding mine."

Ivar rolled his eyes and pursed his lips at her, "I will answer your question, if you answer mine."

It was Kára's turn to roll her eyes. She leaned back with a sigh, adjusting her legs to a more comfortable position, and resumed moving around the contents of her stew idly.

"I spent my entire life independently. Most men are intimidated by women that do not need them, and I do not care to pretend I do," she spoke honestly. "Besides, there has not been any man that has reached my exceedingly high standards. If I am going to sire his children, he better be part god."

At that, Ivar laughed heartily, "You think a god would want you to mother his children?"

"I did not say that I think a god would," she pointed her spoon at him as she clarified, "I said that is the only man I am willing to suffer the burden of carrying a child inside my body for, and then having to deal with the pain of bringing it into an unforgiving world."

He gave a light shrug and resumed (trying) to eat his stew. "Fair enough," he brought the spoon to his lips and blew on it. He looked at her over it as he hesitated, "Is there no one that meets your exceedingly high standards, then?"

At his question, Kára pondered, scratching her head as she looked over at the hearth. The answer was yes, yes there was. An answer she wasn't confident in saying out loud, at least not the whole answer, and definitely not in front of Ivar. But, he was looking at her, mouth lapping broth from his lips. Her eyes darted from his lips, to his darting tongue, and then to the way his fingers held onto the utensils. She couldn't linger on him for too long.

Sharply looking back at the fire, she lifted her shoulders innocently, "There is one."

Ivar's eyes perked at her. He looked down at his hands and placed the spoon in the bowl and adjusted himself in his seat. Clearing his throat, he tried to seem as casual as possible, "Is he a god?"

Kára snorted, "No." She bit her lip and then found herself adding, "He is a ranger, from Hedeby. We were together for a few seasons."

Ivar's eyes darted to her. He couldn't stop the muscles in his face from dropping at this. Raising his eyebrows briefly, he began to play with his food again, eyes downcast at the unappetizing contents inside.

"A ranger from Hedeby," Ivar repeated, taking a spoonful and bringing it to his mouth. He continued with his mouth full, "That is quite different to a god."

Kára moved from the fire and back to Ivar, giving him a partial smirk, "Now, answer my question."

He perked up, feigning ignorance, "What question?"

" _Ivar,"_ she rolled her eyes.

With a plop, the spoon fell into the bowl again, this time he rested it between his thighs and rubbed his hands together, "Well, since you asked nicely. I happen to prefer blondes."

"Blondes," Kára repeated with a quirked brow.

"Yes,"

"Like your mother?"

Ivar opened his mouth, and then turned his head slightly to give her a barbed look. He pointed his finger at her, "That… That is not fair, Greenfoot."

Kára laughed, taking one last bite from her depleted bowl and then moved it over to the floor next to her chair. "Most men prefer women that remind them of their mothers; it is not unheard of."

Ivar snorted, "You certainly do not remind me of my mother."

He hadn't realized he said it until it was out there. The words lingered in the air between them, like a curtain that was being blown around by wild wind. The rain in the background reminded them of the state of the outside world, and the slow rumble of lightning from the distance told them it was not going to go away any time soon. The distance from Kára's home to Kattegat wasn't far, but to walk in such a downpour at night, and in Ivar's condition, would not end well.

She found herself convinced by her own internal reasoning. The silence went on long enough, so she decided to break it, bypassing his comment all together to say, in her opinion, a much more precarious one.

"You should stay the night."

Ivar stared at her, mouth open from both speechlessness and that he was in the process of shovelling the - thankfully - last portion of his stew into his mouth. He certainly shoved his foot in his mouth moments ago, and to be frank, he was expecting more poking questions or remarks after it. He was taken back. Surprised. Startled. Paralyzed. All he could do was remain where he was, looking at her with wide eyes and a wide mouth with a spoon hovering in front of him. She was looking back at him, head tilted, front teeth chewing her bottom lip, waiting for his response.

Slowly the spoon descended back into the bowl. Ivar prided himself for being quick-witted and sharp tongued. Alas, he was lacking in the department of charm when it came to women. He would watch how easily his brothers were able to woo women to their beds with envy growing in his chest. He convinced himself that the reason why no women ever invited him to their bed was because he was a cripple.

Now, though, he was actually being invited to a woman's bed and he found himself mute. Ivar was quick to learn that he had not a single suave bone in his body. A fact he wasn't readily able to admit to himself, but here he was, facing that fact dead in the face, struggling with the gears in his head, trying to formulate a charming response.

In the end, what he came up with was a quick glance around the furnishings around the room and stated the obvious, "There is only one bed."

Kára looked over at the bed. She hadn't been able to get the furs she'd prefer to make it comfortable, but she emptied the old mattress and stuffed it with grass for the time being. It was comfortable enough for her to sleep in - she had slept on worse mattresses. She used her travelling cloak as a blanket, and rolled up an old cloak to use as a pillow. It was one of the few remains left in the house, one that belonged to her as a child. Her mother had little effects herself. She often wore the same two garbs, which she took with her when she left.

The bed may not be the cushioned and feathered beds that Ivar was used to, but it was large enough for two people.

With a tilt of her head, she replied, "And?"

Ivar watched her get up from her chair and started to poke out the fire in the hearth until it was a little more than a few embers. He kept his eyes on her the entire time, his hands still holding the stew. The house fell in darkness. If it wasn't for the blue haze that peaked out through the window, he would have been completely blinded.

Without a word, Ivar finished the remains of his stew, silently hoping that it didn't go through him in the worst possible way. He felt his hands fidget as he placed it on the floor and went to grab his crutch. He never shared a bed with a girl before. At least he thought he didn't. Did he and Kára ever share a bed as children? Did he stay in this very house before, sleeping in that same bed with her next to him? He wished he could remember if he did, because it would ease his nerves at that moment.

He could hear Kára's feet padding across the floor and then heard the groan of wood as she sat on the cot. Ivar couldn't help himself from taking his time towards her. Trying to navigate in the dark was hard enough, and with the crutch under his arm he struggled from bumping into things. Eventually, he could make out the vague silhouette of Kára sitting on the edge of the bed. Ivar opened his mouth, but found no words, again.

Was this really happening? Was he going to share a bed with a woman for the very first time?

Her hand reached to his, and gave his tunic sleeve a gentle tug, "I promise it is more comfortable than it looks."

_Like the stew?_ He wanted to say, but remained quiet. He gave her a soft smile, but realized she probably couldn't see it. He allowed her to guide him next to her, and then gingerly laid his crutch against the wall next to the bed. Ivar didn't move; he sat still and tense, not knowing what to do. Kára shifted around, tugging a thick blanket - cloak - over her and then lifted her legs up on the bed and started to wiggle over to the other side of the bed.

Ivar didn't move.

The silence would've been deafening had it not been for the rain that drilled on the outside of the house. Kára studied his form in the dark, slightly hunched and rigid like a statue. They had often fallen asleep next to each other, usually in the middle of doing something. Floki and Helga would pick them off and have them sleep in a bay of hay until they woke up in utter confusion. Despite having shared a bed of sorts together, it was always at a respectable distance. Ivar rarely moved, because of his legs. He was often comfortable laying on his back, where Kára preferred her side.

Now, it was different. Their bodies were bigger and the tension was thicker thanks to the conversation they just left. It dawned on Kára that Ivar was nervous - he didn't know her like she did, and if she had to guess, he had never slept in the same bed with a woman let alone actually _been_ with one.

Kára kneaded her lip with her teeth in thought. She needed to defuse the tension as much as possible so he could simply be comfortable with even laying down, because he had still not moved a muscle. She decided to simply pretend that time and memory had not distanced them, and adjusted herself in the cot in accordance with her preferred sleeping position.

"Ivar, if you prefer sleeping sitting up, let me know so I can splay my body out like a starfish," She mumbled.

The sudden sound of her voice made his back twitch from the start. He had been so consumed in his anxieties that he hadn't realized he had been sitting frozen for so long. The cold of the early spring rain was starting to meet his finger tips.

"Sorry," he found himself apologizing, fingers twitching around the buckles of his braces. "I just-"

"I know," she replied softly. "You can lay down, Ivar. When you are ready."

Ivar spotted the pull of the cloak as she fitted herself underneath, and the creak of the wood as she adjusted herself. He lifted his hand and moved them over to the straps around his knees. One leg at a time, he pulled them on the bed, and then scooted back until he reached the top of the bed. When he finally laid his head on the pillow, he came to realize that Kára had her back facing him. His eyes were now adjusted enough to the dark to make out the curve of her shoulder before it disappeared under the cloak she hugged around her body.

He laid flat on his back, head tilted to the side as he studied her form. With the proximity, he could smell nothing but her. The mattress smelt like grass, but she smelt like campfire and pine. She smelt like a hearthfire during a winter storm. She smelt like safety and warmth. She smelt like home and adventure all at the same time.

Ivar's body moved without his permission. His hand snaked over to grip the cloak on one end and pulled his body under it. It was just large enough to fit them both if he moved closer to her - and he did. He wormed and inched his way until his nose was on her neck, and he could feel the muscles of her back tense. He held his breath, expecting her to push him away, but she didn't. Instead, Kára twisted her body until she was now facing him, their noses so close to each other that they shared each other's air. They were so close that they could see the sheen of each other's eyes in the dark.

"Is it true what you said, that I was your only friend?" Ivar found himself asking, his voice barely above a whisper. He wasn't sure why his words were so soft and quiet - it was only them in the room. It was as if he was afraid that someone might overhear the vulnerability in his words.

Kára didn't answer right away, but she gave a small nod, and then followed it with a soft: "Yes. My mother and I lived a very isolated life here. I did not know a lot of children my own age."

Ivar nodded, understanding the circumstances. Though, he wondered if it would've been different, had she lived closer to the city. Would she have been popular? Would she have not regarded Ivar at all? Would she have whispered about him behind closed fingers among their peers, too? Would she have befriended his older brothers first, and would she have shared her bed with them? He swallowed at the thought, and doubt crept up his spine as he worried at these possibilities. Possibilities that were impossible to prove, but they made his gut twist uncomfortably.

"Plus," he heard her whisper. "I was quite a dirty child. I hated baths, and I never wore shoes. That is why everyone called me Greenfoot."

Ivar felt himself give a soft snort before turning it into a chuckle he tried to suppress. That was something he also didn't remember, even if he remembered the nickname like a familiar smell he couldn't place. Though the context made sense, now he realized it. As a prince himself, hygiene was important to him, like most norsemen. It was certainly uncommon to his people to not take care of hygiene. He wondered why _he_ gave her the light of day if that were the case.

"What in Midgard possessed me to allow you to kiss me?" He asked out loud, mostly to himself.

"Well, you _allowed_ me to do it twice," she replied candidly with a small smirk.

"Twice? Are you telling me there was a second time?"

"If it makes you feel any better, I wasn't dirty the second time!"

"Oh, that makes it loads better, thank you," his smile was broad. His face was hot and flushed, but the blue cast of darkness shielded the colour of his cheeks. He ran a hand down his face regardless. He peeked through the digits of his fingers as he regarded her.

"Do you take pleasure in kissing me against my will?"

She gave a sheepish smile, "A little."

Ivar continued to study her through the spaces between his fingers, his gaze jumping from one eye to the other. He then looked to her nose, and then to her small smile. He wished he remembered those times. As of now, he had believed he had never had his first kiss before. It bothered him more than he thought it would. He tried to picture it, her lips on his, but couldn't grasp the memory of feeling it. That debilitating thought caused a pull in his chest. A second time, his body moved without his permission. Before he could stop himself, he was dropping his hand from his face, and leaning closer to her.

The heat radiating off of her was intoxicating, and the taste of her breath on his lips was only fuel to the flame. Once Ivar was a breath away, there was no turning back. Her lips parted the moment he landed on them, as if her body reacted accordingly instead of unexpectedly. It was a gentle kiss, but hot to the touch and enough power to shoot electric currents through both their bodies.

This kiss was nothing like the ones she stole as a girl, not even the ones she had with Thorvald. While she and the Ranger engaged in their fair share of snogging in the past, it was always feverish and hungry, as if it was going to be the last time they were going to see each other. Because, in a way, it was. Though, this one… It was deeper somehow, despite it only being just the lips. It managed to catch the air in Kára's lungs. She hadn't realized she was holding her breath in her chest until she sighed into the kiss.

Her hand, disconnected from her mind, moved from underneath the cloak and placed it on the arch of his jawline. Ivar's hand immediately went to it, placing it over hers, and padded her small fingers with his long ones.

Neither knew how long the kiss was. It could've been seconds or minutes, but eventually they pulled away. A small pop sounded as their lips detached, as if they tried to inhale each other at the same time, and were momentarily suctioned together. Both their eyes opened, and they simply stared at the shine of each other's eyes as if they were moons reflecting light back at each other.

As though they could read each other's thoughts, Kára and Ivar grinned broadly. Their noses bumped together as they softly laughed. Ivar's fingers laced with hers until he held her hand in a gentle grip.

"That makes it… Two for you, and one for me," Ivar's voice came like a purr of a content cat.

"We are keeping score now, hmm?" She lifted a playful brow. Her response from him was a wiggle of his brows and a little arrogant smirk. "Make it three for me then."

"Wh-"

Her lips were on his this time, cutting him off. Ivar released his hand from hers and moved it to her face. This time her lips were fully parted, and her tongue moved along the seam of his mouth. When he allowed her entry, Ivar was suddenly engulfed with her. All he could smell was her. All he could taste was her. All he could feel was her.

And in his mind was all her. Every dream that seemed murky; every voice he heard in the wind; every face he saw in the trees; every smell he caught trickle by his nose. It was all her. She drilled his mind, body and heart like the rain drilled the world outside.

He remembered her. He didn't know how, but by the Allfather, he remembered her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not the best at writing fluffy romance scenes, so I hope this one delivered!
> 
> Don't have much for anymore notes for this chapter. So, I'll leave it to that!
> 
> Happy Readings!
> 
> ps. Oh, I also wanted to thank everyone a bunch for all the reviews, bookmarks and kudos! I've always been afraid that people would think this is far too slow a pace of a story to read. For anyone that wants direct responses from me (since I tend to forget to respond to reviews that ask questions), you can send me DMs on Wattpad or FF.net. (FF.net is Catherine Braganza, and Wattpad is Kathinnraudi). I'm not too sure you can DM on Archive, unless I am unware of a feature I can't see.


	24. 23: the dirt and mire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kara and Ivar find themselves in a messy situation.

It was still raining when morning came. The sun illuminated from above the dense clouds, but couldn't break through them. The house was no longer in darkness, but in a dim hue of grey. The rain had slowed at least, so when Ivar slowly roused to consciousness, he wasn't sure what time of the day it was, or if he had just been sleeping a few short hours. When his eyes fluttered open, he was slow to realize several things. The first was that he was not in his quarters at the Longhouse. The second was that he was uncharacteristically warm despite the early spring chill that wafted in the open window. The third thing was that he had slept undisturbed with no nightmares, which was different to his norm. The fourth thing was that he was not alone.

He lay on his back staring at the ceiling when he felt movement at his side, and then a slight twitch on his palm. Slowly he turned his head and saw her laying next to him. Her hand was loosely placed in his; her knees pulled up to her stomach, and her hair had freed itself out of the braid halfway and curtained her face.

Now he remembered… along with everything else. He wasn't sure how he remembered, even if it was fragments here and there. It was almost like looking into a sheet of ice that covered a clear lake. He could make out forms, but the weeds at the bottom obstructed details. And in some cases, it almost felt like they weren't his memories. Like dreams, or stories told to him that he would play out in his head. He did remember meeting her under the tree, although the kiss escaped his memory. He did remember going to Floki to fix his wound, and then the man teasing him about his encounter. He remembered winning her bow, and how upset she was. He even remembered when she ran away for a few days, and he went out to find her only to end up nearly drowning. He remembered she saved him. But he didn't remember the kiss that followed. It was as if he couldn't believe that those small yet intimate details ever happened.

Kára stirred again, but this time her body stretched out and she jerked when her toes found his calves. It seemed she also forgot she didn't go to bed alone. With her other hand, she pushed back her hair from her eyes, blearily looking around until she settled on Ivar. A crack of a smile came before she let her head fall back on the flattened makeshift pillow.

"Is it morning?" She asked, her voice rough with sleep.

Giving a soft laugh through his nose, Ivar shook his head, "I have no idea." He moved his hand to his eye to pick out the sands of sleep that rested in the corner.

He heard her groan and move closer to him until she was nestled under his arm, head resting on his chest. This action caught him off guard. He had never had a woman lay next to him in such an intimate way, much less one he only met… well he supposed that he hadn't just met her. Though despite his memory coming into focus more and more since the night before, she still felt new to him. Even if he had all his memory back, or if he hadn't lost it all, there was a huge gap of time missed. The Kára tucked in his arm was a grown woman, whereas Kára in his memory was a girl; a girl he knew when he was a child.

Ivar let his arm rest around her; his movements slow to start, but relaxed once he settled into the position. He idly inhaled, content in his senses being filled with her natural scent.

"You never told me where you were this entire time," Ivar mused. He suspected it wasn't here, just by the state of this old house. Even though it had signs of being lived in, it was only recently. Which meant that she had just come back to it.

"Hm," she cleared her throat and adjusted herself at his side. "I was in Hedeby. I trained as a shieldmaiden under Lagertha."

Ivar was not surprised that she was trained to be a shieldmaiden, but he was surprised that it was under the ex-wife of his father. Even if Hedeby was a day and a half's ride away from Kattegat, it still felt so close to him. She was just under his nose the entire time, and he had no idea.

Ivar tilted his head, "How did you end up there?"

"That is a long story," she answered.

He noted her idle fingers, draped over her side, kneading the hem of her tunic.

"It is still raining. That is the best time to tell long stories."

She gave a soft snort and he could feel her shake her head, "Fine."

Kára moved her hand to where her head lay, and Ivar found the skin underneath his tunic burn from the touch. He wanted those fingers to move along the muscles of his stomach, to relax the tension he felt building in his abdomen. But they instead drummed next to her face. Slender digits, uneven nails, rough pads, and nicked and damaged cuticles. The hands of an archer, a shieldmaiden, and a working woman. So unlike the hands of women he was used to seeing.

"Me and my mother remained here after being exiled from Kattegat. Nothing much happened during the beginning… it was just the two of us for some time. I don't know how long, I was too distraught over what happened. Then, suddenly, it wasn't just the two of us, and after that, everything changed."

Ivar furrowed his brow, "What do you mean?"

Kára struggled to find her words, not knowing how Ivar would take to what she would confess. She could say it was just a stranger, but hiding the truth would only fester his distrust of her like an untreated wound. If she wanted Ivar back, she would have to be honest with him. Especially since no one has been honest with him this entire time.

"Ragnar," she swallowed, her mouth feeling drier than when she woke up. "He came to my mother when he returned from Paris."

She could feel his muscles tense underneath her, and she feared to move, hoping that the weight of her head would ground him. But when she felt the rumble of his words come from his chest, she knew that there was no way this news would go smoothly with him. His breathing atop her head felt laboured, so Kára remained quiet, waiting to see if he would let her continue or comment on it. It ended up being the latter.

"We all thought he left the area completely," his voice was on edge. Kára didn't need to look to know that he was probably glaring a hole into the wall. "But he was just a short walk from the city the entire time."

"He was not well," Kára immediately continued, trying to explain.

"How long was he here?" He questioned, and Kára winced.

She slowly sat up, then twisted herself so she was looking at him, and as she suspected, he was glaring into the air. Not long after, hat glare moved over to her. He was gritting his jaw so tightly, she could see the muscles of his face twitch.

"How long was he here, Kára?" He repeated the question; the sound of her name coming from his lips that way felt like a slap.

Her mouth hung open, wishing she should've just lied in the first place. Her righteous logic was failing her. She recalled a time as a child when she called a woman ugly, and her mother had slapped her mouth and told her that some truths were too cruel to be said. Would she think this was a truth too cruel to be said?

"About three winters-"

" _ **Three**_ winters?!"

Kára winced at his words. She pinched her eyes closed, and ran a hand over her forehead as he shuffled himself off the cot.

"Ivar-" Kára reached out for him, wishing he'd come back let her explain the situation. "You don't understand."

"I understand perfectly!" He grabbed his crutch, pulled it under his shoulder with ease, and hobbled back over to where he left his clothes drying near the hearth. "He was not only ashamed of his failure in Paris, but of his failure as a father. Of his failure of a family. A drunk and unfaithful wife, a crippled son-"

"Ivar, that isn't it at all!" Kára pulled herself up, moving over to him as he gathered his effects and hurriedly pulled them on. She put her hand on his shoulder, and he roughly shook her off before turning to her like a viper ready to strike.

"I remember, Kára. I now remember you. I also remember how my father looked at you, wishing you were the child he was gifted instead of me. He left his family in favour of one he wished he had."

A pit settled deep in Kára's stomach; she felt herself speechless. She opened her mouth, but all she could say, or could do, was to deny his claims. That he didn't leave because he was ashamed of his family. He didn't leave because of Ivar. He didn't even leave because of Aslaug. But for some reason, she couldn't even deny herself one thing, and that was that Ragnar wished for something different, or something that used to be. And he found that with Hulda and Kára.

Ivar pushed open the door and began to briskly walk out of it. Kára rushed after him, stopping just a few feet outside the door. The rain hadn't relented at all last night. The ground was soft and tender; every step Ivar took sank into the earth. The spike of his crutch plunged into the ground like a hot knife through butter.

"Ivar! You shouldn't go back on your own!" She called out, then went into a light jog to follow him.

"I don't need anyone!" He barked back. His shoulders hunched, and his head tilted to the side he favoured as he marched onward. Her angrily blinked back the rain drops that met his lashes. He had been on his own his entire life, both mentally and physically. He never allowed anyone to aid him to walk since he was a small child. His mother worried herself over his safety, but her love was selfish and self fulfilling. It was as if she loved him out of guilt for ever bringing him to life. Ragnar, Ivar's father, was not there from the start. He was aware that Ragnar tried to kill him when he was a newborn, a fact that Aslaug seemed to throw at him every time she was in a drunken rage. A bitter reminder that she was the reason he was alive.

Ivar was abandoned by his father from the first days he was alive. This second abandonment merely confirmed his belief that Ragnar did not like him, nor love him enough to be around and raise him. All Ragnar cared about was his own happiness, and he was not happy to be Ivar's father.

She was following him shortly behind, calling his name and pleading with him to listen to her. The only thing he could hear was the pounding in his head, the rain softly pelting his shoulders and face, and the squishy sounds of his feet trying to trudge through the thickening mud.

Ivar's anger and frustration spiked the moment he felt himself lose balance. The suction of the mud took hold of both his feet and his crutch, and he wobbled and slipped forward into the slick ground. If there was anything going for him that moment, it was that the rain covered up the angry tears escaping the corners of his eyes. His fingers splayed on the ground as he braced himself in the soft earth. He curled them, fisiting the mud and grass in his grasp. Never has he felt so humiliated, so rejected in all his life. And she was there to witness his fall. Unbelievable.

"Ivar!" her voice was behind him, and soon her hand was on his shoulders.

He jerked away from her, giving a short bark of protest. He didn't need her pity. He didn't need _anyone's pity._ It was worse than the insults and bullying he endured from children and adults alike. It only fueled his insecurities over being weak and pathetic. At least the taunts served to get him angry and motivated to prove them wrong. The pity only gave him self loathing and self doubt; he wondered constantly if people truly feared him as they did as a child, or were they simply humouring him? Was that what Kára was doing to him right now? Was she his friend because she pitied him?

Ivar was so engrossed in his own thoughts that he hadn't realized she had come down to her knees and had her arms wrapped around his back. It wasn't until he heard her voice next to his ear that made him jerk, intent on trying to pull away from her, but she held fast.

"When Ragnar came to my mother, he was barely a man. You need to understand, he was sick in both body and mind. He was fed a poison by his concubine, and it tampered with his mind, and made his body weak when he did not have it. Me and my mother had to take care of him as if he were a child… we fed him, bathed him, and…" She trailed off, sparing the details of the less flattering things that Hulda had to do in order to care for Ragnar. "He was not your father when he came to us. He did not leave his family because he was ashamed of it, or because he wanted something else. He was ashamed of himself. He saw him as undeserving after his countless failures.

"Even when the poison was out of his body, he was so much weaker. He was not the same man you remember. He tried to redeem himself by raising me after my mother left… But he left me as well, and… I believe it was for the best. He had to take a path I couldn't take. Just like my father… Ragnar has shadows that haunt him, and that is something that cannot be purged from his body like an illness. And it is not your fault that he has them. He loves you, Ivar. More than you realize."

Ivar felt so very heavy. His shoulders sank, his head hung, and it felt as if the earth was slowly swallowing him. Each word she spoke churned his conflicting emotions around. He was heavy with self loathing, but also, of empathy for his absent father. Ivar had his own shadows as well, ones that lurk around him like crows waiting for his body to give up, so they may feast on his broken flesh and soul. He remembered the story of Kára's father, the famed smith who killed himself in the frozen lake outside of Kattegat. Would Ragnar do the same? Would… _he_ do the same?

Kára still held onto him as if he was going to slip into the soft earth he sat on. He felt the rain starting to slow down until it was merely a few droplets that came from the branches and leaves from above them. Ivar lifted his head, then his hand to move it over hers, weaving his mud-caked fingers with her own.

"Do you think he will return?" He found his voice uncharastically soft.

He felt her sigh against his ear, "If he doesn't… Then I will hunt him down myself."

Ivar couldn't help but smile at the image. He bowed his head until his chin met his clavicle. After a beat or two, he felt her give him a peck on the back of the neck, which caused sparks to go down his spine.

"The rain's stopped," Kára began as she started to pull herself up from the ground. Wiping her hands on her tunic, she continued. "We should get you back to Kattegat before-"

The wind left her lungs as she felt the world around her whirl past her. Ivar had swept her under her legs and pulled her down into the mud with him. As she laid on her back, completely dumbfounded by her position, Ivar took the opportunity to throw mud in her face.

"That is for leaving me to deal with Sigurd alone for five years."

With languid motions, Kára lifted her arms and wiped the mud from her face and then shook it off with a whip of her wrist. She pulled herself up to a sitting position with great difficulty. The mud made a suctioning sound when she dislodged herself from its grasp. When she looked at Ivar, he was looking at her with an impish smile and a laugh on his tongue. Such a contrast to what he was like moments before. Of course she preferred this version of Ivar; mischievous and playful, but the sudden shift of mood caught her off guard. She didn't think her words would change his heart so dramatically, but perhaps she was thinking too much into it.

"You are going to pay for that."

"Oh am I-" Ivar did not have the opportunity to finish, because she was already launching herself at him.

They rolled around in the mud, wrestling around in an attempt to pin the other underneath them. At some point, Ivar tried to get on his knees to gain some kind of leverage, but the slickness of the mud caused him to capsize on top of her. Kára pulled her a leg from underneath him and hooked herself around his waist to keep him down. Ivar instead grabbed a hold of her hips and pulled her on top of him before rolling around until he had her pinned underneath him. Her legs were still locked around his waist while he held himself up with both his hands firmly planted on either side of her head.

Kára's face was splattered with mud from her forehead to her nose, and a few specks against her lips. Her hair was caked until its vibrant colour was washed out completely. Her tunic was slick and wet, and Ivar was painfully aware of how it now hugged the curves of her breasts, and exposed the cold peaks of her nipples.

Ivar swallowed, his mischievous grin fading as he looked at her. Her smile also slowly vanished just as Ivar lowered his head towards her. His eyes fluttered closed as he inched forward, waiting for the bump of their noses. Instead, he felt a cold splat of mud smack his face.

Kára massaged her hand on his face, making sure she got as much mud on him as possible. When she pulled away she laughed at the state of Ivar's face. His eyes were firmly shut, his mouth in a grimace, and his nose scrunched up. Still laughing, she watched him balance himself with one hand while the other wiped off the gunk from his eyes and mouth.

"That is for making me haul your ass up the tree, which started all of this in the first place."

With a tight lip smile, Ivar nodded and then burst out laughing. He rolled off of her and onto his back, still trying to wipe off the dirt from his face with little success. The two laid like that in the mud for some time. With the sun behind the thick grey clouds, they had no indication of how long they'd been there. The forest was thick in a grey smoke, the drizzle of leftover rain soaked their bodies, but by looking at them, you would think they were laying out in the grass under the sun.

**X X X**

Aslaug's nails had nearly reached the pads of her fingers. She had been pacing around the Longhouse, biting her nails and washing them down with wine almost all day. Ivar had not come home last night, and now it was nearly evening the next day. She was used to her youngest son testing her patience, and this was not the first, and probably not the last time that he hadn't come home one night. However, the storm that drilled the city was unpredicted, and it was harsh and long. She worried her mind over the endless of predicaments her son was in. What if he fell, broke his legs further, and was trapped somewhere in the forest? What if he was trapped somewhere, and died from the cold? What if he caught a fever and it would later kill him? What if he was kidnapped by raiders for ransom? What if Thor decided to hammer his anvil on his head? The lightning was close last night, and while it was brief, it had passed overhead with the raging winds. She felt the vibrations in her bones last night… Was that a sign from the gods that something had happened to him?

"Mother, you should sit down," Ubbe's gentle voice tried to reach her. When she didn't answer, he pressed, "You are going to walk through the soles of your shoes."

Ignoring his comment, she threw back remains of her goblet, and extended it over to a patiently waiting thrall. While the small blonde refilled her goblet, it was the only time she had stopped walking. Ubbe shared a look with the slave, and then moved his gaze to his mother with his nostrils flaring as his patience for his mother's behaviour continued to grow thin.

"What is taking Hvitserk and Sigurd so long?" She mused mostly to herself.

She had sent her two other sons out to look for Ivar when he hadn't returned by high noon. There were some doubts that they were even trying; Hvitserk was easily distracted, and tended to do things with half as much effort as what was expected of him. And Sigurd… Well, it was no secret that Ivar was no friend to Sigurd. Then there was Bjorn, who was beyond her reach in authority. She was neither his mother nor his Queen in his world. Bjorn was his own authority, being the eldest son of Ragnar, and revered by all in Kattegat as favoured by the gods. Bjorn gave a half commitment in looking for Ivar when he came into the Longhouse that morning, but she hadn't heard anything from him.

"You should have gone with them," she casted a reprimanding look at Ubbe. He insisted on remaining here, with her. At the time, the gesture touched, but now he merely annoyed her. He looked so much like his father, that the more he told her to calm down, the more his voice began to sound like Ragnar's patronizing tone.

"Ivar will come home on his own," Ubbe pressed.

"Oh, how do you know?" Aslaug buried her nose in her goblet as she nearly drained a full cup. "Ivar is no normal boy-"

"Man. Ivar is a man," his voice came more forcefully than he intended to. When Aslaug halted and moved a viper-like glare in his direction, he wasn't sure if it was his tone or his words that caused the reaction. However, before she could retort, he found himself continuing. "He is eighteen, it is time that you stop looking at him like a helpless child. He can take care of himself better than most men older than him."

Aslaug was eerily rigid in her posture. When she pushed the goblet in Margrethe's hand, Ubbe knew he pushed a nerve. His mother stalked over to him and once she reached him, he pulled himself off the edge of the table where he sat the entire time. He was so much taller than her, and she was already a tall woman, but even when she looked up at him with those cold eyes, he felt like a little boy.

"Ubbe, do you have some bastard children that I don't know about?" She didn't give him time to respond, "Because if you do not, then you have _**no**_ right to tell me not to worry about _**my**_ children."

Ubbe's mouth clamped shut. His jaw twitched under the pressure of his teeth biting his tongue. He couldn't help but wish he had gone with his brothers after all, but truthfully, he didn't feel right leaving his mother alone… He especially did not feel right leaving Margrethe to the queen's unpredictable mood swings.

Once she was satisfied with Ubbe's silence, she sharply turned on her heel and back to the thrall, roughly jerking her goblet from her hand and resumed her pacing. Ubbe's audacity rested on her mind, muddling her worried thoughts with resentment. No one knew Ivar better than her; she was not only his mother, but his caregiver, and the reason why he was still alive. Her life, her reason to live, now revolved around him, and him alone. Her three other sons were old enough to be completely independent; they were old enough to marry and have children of their own. In her age, she knew she would never be able to sire anymore children, and her husband's absence meant she had no other distractions. Ivar was still dependent on her, more than he- more than anyone realized. If he was gone, then Aslaug would truly have lost everything, and her purpose for living would have vanished.

The doors of the Longhouse swung open and all heads swung in its direction. Aslaug had an ominous feeling of seeing this before, perhaps in another lifetime, but she pushed that feeling away when she saw her youngest son, alive - albeit filthy - hanging off the shoulder of an equally filthy woman. He held onto his crutch under his arm, but he was held steady by his companion. The woman was soaked in just as much mud as her son. Her feet were bare, which felt more curious than the state of the two.

Aslaug practically dropped the goblet on the table as she rushed over to Ivar, and moved to take his face in her hands. She stopped herself, though. He had a smile on his face when he came into the door, but that quickly vanished when she said his name and approached him. Ubbe moved over to the two and dislodged Ivar from the girl's shoulder, and helped him into a stool.

"Hello, mother," Ivar spoke, tilting his head up at her in a manner that reminded her of Ragnar. Aslaug had half a mind to slap him. Instead she balled up her fists at her sides.

"Where in Helheim have you been?!" Her voice danced on the precipice of shouting. Her words came forceful and strained from her attempts at controlling her anger.

She was still mad at Ubbe's comments minutes ago, but seeing Ivar being so nonchalant and cool at his late arrival heightened that emotion nearly tenfold. It just made Ubbe right. Ivar was dirty, caked in mud from head to toe, but he was completely unharmed, and seemed completely unperturbed. Nothing had happened to him. And for that, Aslaug's irritation grew. She wanted to prove to Ubbe that her worry was warranted and her doting on Ivar was justified.

This proved otherwise. She hated it.

Ivar comically rolled his head over to Ubbe, his lips pursed at him, eye half lidded as he sent his brother messages spoken only through his gaze. With a sigh through his nose, he looked back at his mother and gave a half shrug at her answer.

"I went for a walk," his short answer grated against her nerves.

"During a monsoon?"

Ivar opened his mouth, but another spoke for him. Aslaug had ignored the companion until this moment; she nearly forgot that she was there.

"He was with me, my lady," the girl spoke. Aslaug's head whipped in her direction. The girl stood there awkwardly, bare feet bouncing back and forth on the stone floor, hands fidgeting and moving around as she tried to figure out how to rest them. The girl swallowed under Aslaug's stare, and she rushed to complete her statement. "He was near my camp when it started raining, and I offered him shelter until the rain stopped."

Aslaug moved around Ivar and walked over to the girl near the door. She scrutinized her through narrowed eyes, trying to see if she knew her from somewhere. It was almost impossible to see her through the drying mud on her face and hair, but there was nothing familiar to Aslaug. Except for her eyes. They reminded her of the seafoam eyes that haunted her dreams, but she pushed that feeling aside when she settled herself in front of the girl.

The Queen towered over her, but she was a towering figure for most people. The girl couldn't be any older than Ivar, judging by the wideness of her hips and the muscle in her thighs and arms, but she was shorter than average. Ivar had no female friends, so she was sure that she never met this girl before. Aslaug would have been aware if Ivar had females around him, so this girl had to be a stranger to both of them.

"What is your name?" Aslaug asked.

The girl made a quick glance over to Ivar, and then to Ubbe who stood next to him. She darted her eyes back to the Queen, but she had a hard time to keep them still. Aslaug noticed how nervous she was, but Aslaug wasn't a stranger to that. Most people seemed nervous around her, even before she married Ragnar. Her name and reputation had weight, and now more than ever.

"Brynhilda," she blurted at last.

The name shook Aslaug's core, though in a way she was not prepared for. Her irritation seemed to ease itself at the sound of the name. She suddenly had visions of her mother's youthful face smiling down at her. She had little memories of her mother, but those she had she treasured like precious jewels she only brought out when she felt sentimental.

Like a sudden shift in tide, her pursed lips and furrowed brow eased and relaxed. With a smile, she brought her hand to the girl's chin and lifted up her head with delicate fingers. This was not a normal girl, Aslaug mused. Her name was no coincidence. Aslaug knew no coincidence that meant nothing in her world. This girl was sent to Ivar by her mother, to protect him when Aslaug could not. She was a gift from the Valkyries. She had to be.

"Brynhilda," Aslaug repeated the name. "Were you named after Brynhildr Buðladóttir?"

The girl swallowed, trying her hardest to train her eyes onto Aslaug's. "Yes… My mother was a great admirer of her's."

Aslaug's smile broadened a fraction, and her hand fell from the girl's chin as she took a step back with a now relaxed demeanour.

"Brynhildr was my mother," she stated, and the girl nodded to confirm that she knew this information. "I wish I knew her longer."

The girl regarded her words closely; it seemed vulnerable, almost as if she hadn't meant to speak it out loud. She wondered if she said it with purpose, or she had enough glasses of wine to dislodge the filter from her mind to her mouth. Regardless, she remained quiet, waiting to be dismissed or acknowledged again.

"I would like to thank you for your hospitality on my son's behalf," Aslaug spoke with more sober words. She leaned against the table, her hand extended as the thrall came back with another goblet, refilled to the rim. "Though, I must ask- what happened," she gestured to their state of dress. "Here."

"Oh," Brynhilda opened her mouth and let out a small laugh as she shared a look with Ivar. "We both… fell into a mire patch."

Aslaug looked between her and Ivar; they both smiled and attempted to hide youthful laughs behind bitten lips as they looked at each other. There was clearly more to the story, but Aslaug decided to leave it for now. She never thought girls would be interested in Ivar, and frankly Aslaug was calmed by that fact. Now, though, it seemed like a friendship was blossoming, and she didn't find herself hating the prospect. Perhaps it was the comforting name attached to the girl, or the wine speaking, but Aslaug decided she would allow this to play out and see where it went.

"Brynhilda, you are welcome to stay and use our bath to clean yourself. Then you can join us for nattmal," Aslaug spoke before chasing her words down with a sip of wine.

The offer seemed to bristle the girl. Her smile dropped into an 'o' shape, and she quickly shook her head and declined the offer. "I appreciate the hospitality, my lady, but I would not feel comfortable. I am just a commoner, it would not be appropriate to use royal treatments."

Aslaug tilted her head, the urge to argue that it was an order from a Queen on the tip of her tongue, but she decided not to engage in a verbal battle with a commoner. The humility of the lower classes were notoriously stubborn, and Aslaug did not want to push something that made Brynhilda uncomfortable.

"Then, I must insist that you come by another day to join us for nattmal, as a thank you for returning my son home."

Brynhilda bit her lip, but relented with a smile. With a bow of her head, she accepted Aslaug's offer. Aslaug, now satisfied, snapped her head to Ubbe, her smile moved into a line as she had to address her son. Ubbe had been looking at their visitor before Aslaug said his name, forcing him to look at her.

"Ubbe, escort Brynhilda back to her camp safely, and see if you can find Hvitserk and Sigurd and let them know Ivar's home safely," she left no room for him to say otherwise. She turned her attention back at Ivar, and grabbed his chin to make him look at her. She muttered something about the state of his being, before reprimanding him for being so reckless.

Ubbe nodded at her request of him and moved over to 'Brynhilda', "Let's get you home."

Her eyes were glued on his while she gave him a bow of her head. Kara wondered if he could see through the mud.

"I do not live far," she said to him. "Just outside the city."

Silently they left the Longhouse towards the direction of the forest where Ubbe knew she was referring to. He waited until the throng of people walking by thinned out and he was able to get a moment alone with her.

He pulled her gently by the shoulder behind a vacant market stand, turning her to him and then dropping his hand to his side.

"Kára?" He asked in a small voice, his eyes wide and wondering.

Her lips pressed in a firm line, and she moved her hands to her face to wipe as much crusted mud from it as possible. As each chip of mud was cleared from her, theher features came clearer to him. She was older, no doubt about that. Her face was sharper than the girlish youth he remembered. He only wished he was able to see the colour of her hair - the truest confirmation of who she was - but it was caked in mud to the point where it looked like the tendrils looked like dreadlocks.

She smiled at him, it was small and sort of sad. He hadn't seen her since he left for Paris with Hvitserk, which felt like a decade ago now that he thought about it.

"Hello, Ubbe," the way she said his name, with such familiarity and ease, pulled something in his chest.

He knew Kára for a short while, but her presence in his life was monumental in the way she inserted herself in the life of the Lothbroks. Ubbe never had a sister and he doubted that Aslaug had the capability of giving him one anytime soon. However, Kára was the closest to one he ever had. They trained together, they ate together, and even bickered as siblings do. Of course, he was nowhere near as close to her as Ivar was; there was a notable age gap between them that seemed larger when they were children. Now, though, they were even in maturity. She was the same age as Ivar, and judging by the nicks on her skin and the muscular form of her posture, they were likely even in capability as well.

Ubbe found himself enveloping her into a hug, which she gladly reciprocated. He was so much taller than Ivar, that her head rested on his broad chest, and he had to decline his head to lay his cheek on the top of her's.

"I am happy you are back," he sighed, ignoring the smell of rain and earth that came from her.

"Me too, Ubbe."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I havent put any new images in the pinterest for chapter related content, merely because there isnt anything "new" I can think of. But once ch 24 is up, I'll simply put in pictures of all the characters just to fill the void.
> 
> Next chapter is super long, so I may need a break before I start working on ch 25. But soon this story will pick up where Season 4B started.
> 
> Happy Readings!


	25. 24: the rueful crown

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> During a family dinner, the Ragnarssons sing Be Our Guest to an unsuspecting Kara.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I managed to write chapter 25 faster than I thought, so I wasted no time in editing this to get it up before the week was over. It is quite long, but that is because the first half is a "in-between" moment, and it would've been too short if I ended it at the appropriate ending point, so I decided to combine it with the next scenario rather than split it in half.
> 
> There are some trigger warnings for this chapter, though.

* * *

**tw: mentions of non con; slavery; anxiety attacks; mental health; depression; mention of child death.**

* * *

The morning greeted Kára with uncomfortable stiffness. Her feet were sore, her head pounded with an ache at the uncomfortable sleep she managed to put herself in. When she got back to her house, she had to make do with the little things she had in order to wash off the mud from her body. In the end, she couldn't completely clean everything off. All she had was a basin that she filled with boiled water and did her best with scrubbing the residue as much as she could in the easiest places. But, alas, her hair was matted with dry dirt. Her clothes were almost unsalvageable. Unfortunately, there was no way she could bathe in the river the night before. The rain made everything freezing, so she had to sleep in the filth and mud until the aches of her stiff muscles woke her up before the rising sun.

At the very least, there _was_ sun.

The first thing she did was gather Dynja and rode towards the river, where she and her mother would bathe all those years ago. As she tied the horse to a tree and laid out her grooming tools, she couldn't help but give a little laugh at the memories of where her mother would pull her into the water, kicking, screaming and protesting as if she were about to be executed. She recalled when she was very small, that she managed to climb up a tree like a bear cub trying to flee from danger, and stayed there until dusk. Hulda had spent the entire day at the base of the tree trying to coax her down with treats and empty promises. In the end, she ended up getting Floki to cut down the tree, and Kára ended up falling right into the river she hated. She was far too stubborn to climb down during the fifteen minutes it took Floki to cleanly cut through the trunk.

And here she was now, putting her effects on the very stump of the tree she once climbed, stripping off her clothes to nose dive into the calm river. The river was by no means _warm_ , especially this early in the day, but after the experience with the lake weeks ago, cold waters no longer got the best of her. However, it did encourage her to clean herself with speed.

She was smart enough to bring all her clothes from Hedeby when she left that night, so she was able to change into cleaner ones once she was finished. She cleaned her sullied ones in the river, but she wasn't going to get hung up on perfection. As long as they didn't smell like a swamp, she was satisfied.

By the time she reached home, the sun shone through the trees, lighting up the unsightly mess her front lawn turned into. She halted Dynja when she reached the line that separated the grass and the mire that the rain created around the house. She deadpanned at it all, not looking forward in fixing the tender ground, among the many other things.

Clicking her tongue, she guided Dynja through the mess over to her makeshift stable. That should be the first thing she needed to fix - something stable, and comfortable for her horse. But she wouldn't be able to create it without nails and, well, help. This place needed more mending that she had anticipated. It was as if the earth was reclaiming it, and its pull into the ground just seemed to increase the more she tried to take it back. It made all her efforts pointless. She would have better luck making a new house in another clearing.

When Kára dismounted and fell into the splash of mud, she threw her head back in exasperation. The mud went everywhere, from the legs of Dynja, to the hem of her new tunic. She had yet to lay out her old clothes to dry now that the sun was out, and now she would have to go back to the river to clean this new set of clothes. She missed the days where hygiene and cleanliness was not an issue for her. Looking back, she envied the green-footed girl that spent her days in the trees, laying in grass, and digging in the dirt for worms and bugs.

"Well, aren't you a sight for sore eyes."

Kára cursed herself for not paying closer attention to her surroundings, but when she whipped her head towards the source, she was glad for the surprise. Standing there at the foot of the muky clearing was Floki and Helga. The years had caused the creases around their eyes and mouths to deepen, there more tattoos that decorated Floki's skin, and his hair had changed dramatically, but the couple that Kára saw as an aunt and uncle had not changed at all.

A huge grin broke on her face and she went to sprint over to them, but ended up wadding heavily through the thick moist grown. Floki laughed at the sight, extending his arms out with exaggeration as he waited with bated breath for his surrogate niece to reach him. By the time Kára reached them, Helga gave a snort as she nearly fell on top of them, taking their open arms in a group hug.

"You haven't grown an inch," Floki remarked when they parted. He tapped the top of her head, indicating her short height.

Kára swatted his hand away and gave him a mocking glare, "I have _too!_ " Even to her ears, she sounded like a petulant child. "You are just a tree."

Floki gave a giggle; the same giggle she had grown to love since a child. It was the most endearing thing about him, and it was hard to forget him for it.

"It looks like your home has seen better days," Helga changed the subject to the sorry state of the old house.

At the mention of her home, Kára sighed and turned to look back at it, her lips falling into a thin line. Looking at it from this angle just made her stomach sink in defeat.

"I thought I could make it home again," she took a deep inhale and exhaled, feeling the discomfiture rest on her shoulders. "But it is resisting me everyday."

Floki's large hand rested on her shoulder, directing her eyes back to the two.

"Perhaps it is time to let it go, Kára. It is frozen in the past and it is meant to be that way," his wise words gave her a gut punch.

She had left this place years ago, but somehow she always thought that she would return to it, and it would all be the same. But as she looked at the house, how the roof seemed to be lower than before, thanks to the grassy overgrowth that hung like a skirt above it. There were no more flowers, just mud, just remnants of old life. She was trying so hard to get it back to what it was, but she was denying it the right to become one with the earth and wild. Biting her lip, she hugged her arms, feeling the loss the moment she admitted to herself that her childhood home was unsalvageable.

"I have nowhere to go," she said out loud once her arms flopped to her sides in defeat.

"You do," Helga's comforting voice brought her attention back to them. "You can live with us."

"What?" Kára's eyes went wide, and she looked between them, wondering if this was a decision made with consensus.

Both Helga and Floki were looking down at her with a soft expression. The fingers on her shoulder curled as Floki brought her back again for another hug, his hand moving to the curls of her head.

"You are always welcome to live with us, Greenfoot," he spoke with a small smile behind his whiskers. "We also need someone to help with the chores."

Kára gave a groan in his shirt and lifted her head at him with a grimace, "I knew there was a catch."

Floki gave another laugh before letting her out of his grasp. Kára turned around to face the wreckage of her home, perhaps for one last time. Her eyes went to the door, partially hidden behind the curtain of grass. The faces of the cats winked at her from underneath. Placing her hands on her hips, she squared her shoulders and marched through the mud silently until she finally reached the door. When Floki and Helga realized what she was doing, they followed after her. Kára pulled out the iron hinges, and Floki held onto the door, and the two of them lifted it off the wall, and placed it against the house. Helga reached over with a cloth and began to wipe off the dirt and grass stains that littered its surface.

"I will come back with the cart," Floki draped his arms over each of the woman's shoulders as they both looked at the carving. "Gather your things, Kára."

**X X X**

Kára had not realized how exhausted she was until she was able to sleep in a proper bed. Floki and Helga's home was much more spacious, and they had multiple huts specific for certain needs. They had set up a cot in Floki's carpenter hut, which was warm, smelled of cedar, and gave her the privacy she needed for a woman her age. Dyjna was also grateful for having a proper stable, which he now shared with Floki's own horse. The best part, however, was the _furs_. She didn't want to get out of bed, but instead opted into hiding underneath the pile of furs Helga gave her until it was near late morning.

When Floki all but dragged her out by her ankles, Kára begrudgingly came out, ate, and started to tend to her horse. He was filthy from the mud, and clay was starting to form on the hair of his legs and on the tip of his tail. Nothing else happened out of the ordinary on Kára's first day living with Floki and Helga. She had told them both much of what happened, starting from when she and Hulda were exiled, to Ragnar's stay, to her time in Hedeby. Floki had grown pensive when she spoke of Ragnar, but in the end, he did not take it as a betrayal, like Ivar had. He understood more than anyone that it was a necessary direction Ragnar had to take. Though, even he had no idea if his friend would return to his home city, to retake his throne and reunite with his sons and friends. Kára wasn't sure herself, either.

Kára even told Floki of what had happened to her in the lake, and of the dreams she had that lead to it. She told him of Sigrun, of Brynhildr, and what the Seer had told her. She then showed him the long spearhead that she had folded in an old cloak. Floki took it with delicate hands, marvelling at the craftsmanship of it, despite the years of rust that took it. He revealed the little rune markings of the base, a signature of her father's. It appeared it was made by Ulf, but during what era of his life, he had no idea. Floki had not known Ulf until after he married Hulda and swore loyalty to Ragnar.

The spearhead was beyond repair, even Floki had confirmed that. So Kára had laid it with her mother's door next to her bed, still wondering what she would do with the two keepsakes. One was far too heavy to carry around like a good luck charm, and the other was too brittle with rust to do anything useful with. She had considered making it into a long dagger, but Floki said they would have to melt it down just for that to be possible, and that would destroy the original form. Kára was reluctant to destroy it entirely, especially since she hadn't the smithing skills, and Floki was merely satisfactory in them.

Kára had been living with Helga and Floki for three days, and she had not seen Ivar for the duration. She went back to the house once or twice to make sure all that was valuable had been taken from it - and for sentimental reasons. There were no signs of people in the area. The mud was completely dry to a hardening clay, and could easily show footprints had someone been there. Only hers, Floki's, and Helga's were present.

Kára worried over the possibility that Aslaug realized who she was, and had forbidden anyone from looking for her.

That worry ended, though, during the late afternoon of the fourth day with Floki and Helga. Bjorn, Torvi, and their brood had come for a visit, and neither showed surprise at seeing her there. Perhaps the news of Floki's newest tenant had already reached a gossiping point, though Kára wasn't entirely sure how and who had started it.

Kára sent Helga a wary glance that the latter seemed to not notice.

"It looks like Floki has been putting you to use," Bjorn remarked cheekily as he approached the clearing.

Kára had been working on tanning some hides to make leather stripes for the sails of Floki's new boats. Slowly, she sat up from the log she had been squatting on, and dusted her fingers on her apron and approached the family.

"Well, look what the cat dragged in," she placed her hands on her hips and tilted her head at Bjorn, who stood in front of her with his arms crossed.

"You just could not wait to come to Kattegat. Had to jump on your horse and gallop off before the sun rose," Bjorn mocked, his large smile betraying his real feelings for her leaving him high and dry back at Hedeby.

"Welcome back, Kára," Torvi smiled, bouncing baby Asa at her hip, and holding a sack tied with rope in her other hand.

"It is great to be back," she smiled, though eyed the sack before her attention was sharply brought to Hati.

"Can you teach me how to shoot better than Frodi?" The child's abrupt question was received by an eye roll from his older brother, and a snide comment saying that he had offered to teach him. Though it went otherwise ignored by Hati, as he looked up at Kára, waiting with hopeful eyes for an answer.

Kára laughed at the question; it seemed that his winter with her former pupil was still on his mind. She gave his hair a ruffle, "I suppose I can. But, I should warn you-" she mockingly widened her eyes at the boy, "- My expectations for a Bjornsson will be much higher."

Torvi smiled down at her son, running a gentle hand down his head when he looked at her with a scrunched up face of worry.

"Bjorn!" Came Floki's light voice from behind Kára. She looked over her shoulder, and saw the man hiking up the slight incline from where he was at the jetty. "I was expecting you to be here earlier."

At Floki's comment, Kára furrowed her eyebrows, and turned back to Bjorn. Before she could ask the question, the boatswain draped an arm lazily around her shoulders, eyes still on the other viking. He had a slight smirk under his whiskers, which immediately made Kára suspicious.

"We got held up at the market," Bjorn shrugged, then matched his smirk, though it was far more brief. He had moved his attention to Kára, and the subject of conversation took a dubious turn. "Kára, have you heard the rumour about Ivar's new female friend?"

Kára opened her mouth to answer, but felt herself speechless. She felt heat go to her ears, but all she could do was shake her head no.

"Yes, Ubbe told me. The two stumbled in, covered in mud from head to toe," when he continued, Kára's shoulders relaxed. Though now she realized he was toying with her, so she shifted her weight onto her left foot impatiently waiting for him to get to his punchline. "I believe her name was-"

"-Brynhilda."

"Oh, so you _do_ know her?" He asked cheekily. His smile widened when her eyes rolled at him, and she went to respond to him, but he playfully hit her shoulder. "I am just pulling your chain. I know it was you. But, now we are in an interesting position."

She blinked at him, "Which is?"

"Aslaug has been asking Ivar about Brynhilda, and when she will be coming for nattmal, but he has pushed excuses for long enough. It seems she is quite persistent. I think she has taken a liking to this alter ego of yours."

Kára was taken back by this fact; she barely talked to her a minute the other day, for fear that she would recognize her somehow. She wondered how far the Queen's mind had gone, but she wasn't willing to test how much she recalled the appearance of the daughter of her adversary.

She shook her head, "It does not matter. I was lucky that I was completely covered in mud. She would easily recognize me -" she pulled at her own braid to emphasize the obvious. "I kind of stand out."

"That is why we are here. We have found a solution," Torvi spoke up, adjusting Asa at her hip while lifting up the sack she was holding. Kára's eyes went back to it, and then looked back at Torvi. Without any word, she reached out and took it, and loosened the rope.

Floki still hung on her shoulder, his head bowed above hers as she fished out the contents. He couldn't help the giggle that came when she lifted it up at eye level. The bag fell on the ground, revealing the long length of the pale blonde wig.

Kára looked pointed at Bjorn, her fingers gripping the top of the wig with two delicate fingers. Her top lip was curled, showing her abhorrence of what she was holding.

"What poor thrall did you scalp for this?!"

"We spent good coin for this," Bjorn snatched the wig from her fingers, and fanned it out on his chest. "The vendor was from a place called _Egypt_ … It is a land found somewhere near the Mediterranean sea."

"Is that why you were taking you so long?" Floki asked, pushing his weight on Kára's shoulders. Bjorn had been talking about this sea found inland for years now. With the increase of trade in Kattegat, there were many that claimed to come from countries far away. Talks about this mythical sea fueled Bjorn's fire to find it, but Floki was not entirely convinced it existed.

"Bjorn was a little distracted, yes," Torvi sent her husband a look, then back at the two before her. "But the vendor had made this himself; that a mother had sold him her hair for money to buy food for her children."

"I wish you did not tell me that," Kára eyed the hair with even more concern. With a sigh, she gestured at the wig, "How am I going to keep that thing on my head?"

As if she was waiting for her time to shine, Helga joined the group, cradling a jar in her arms. Her smile spoke innocence, but right now, Kára did not trust her. Especially as she lifted the jar and moved it around, stirring whatever was inside.

"Just on time," Helga pressed her lips into a contained smile. "I have just found the beeswax."

Kára rolled her head back and gave out an exasperated groan to the gods. How long have they been planning this stint?

**X X X**

Ivar was sitting at the table as the thralls placed various dishes in the centre of it. His eyes were on Hvitserk, then Sigurd, and finally Ubbe, who all were standing idly by watching them prep for the night meal. Well, they were specifically looking at one of the thralls. The young Margarthe was a great contrast to the thralls that tend to the Longhouse. Most of the women that served the queen had been around since Ivar was a child; they were greying at their scalps, their backes curved, and their movements were slower. There was always an opportunity to replace them, since oftentimes traders with slaves to sell came back to the Queen, but it wasn't often that the Queen would purchase one. Ivar wondered if she had a sour taste in her mouth from back when she bought Yidu, only for her to be consumed by Ragnar's hunger for anything new and different.

Margarthe had come from Paris as a child not much older than Ubbe and Hvitserk, but she had only recently become a regular servant to Aslaug in the last year. Beforehand, she attended to the horses, and slept in the stables with them along with other stable hands. Her obvious beauty wasn't noticed until she was cleaned of horse filth and hay and brought into the Longhouse when one of his mother's servants died from dysentery.

Of all the women in Kattegat, for some reason his brothers had eyes for her. He understood the appeal, in a way. She was their subordinate, an inferior in class and station. To be the ultimate dominant in such a coupling was enough temptation. Though, Ivar was all talk, and no action. He was not even sure he was able to perform with a woman. There were times where he would imagine himself in a bed full of willing women, but the mere idea of himself naked was distracting. His bare legs were hard to imagine for himself. He doubted they would at all be desirable to look at by a woman. He cringed at the image in his mind, and he would just end up fiddling with his cock under his furs in frustration.

He ripped his eyes from his brothers, finding himself growing frustrated with his own envy. The fact that they could easily have her, but haven't taken advantage of their ability to do so, only served to piss him off. If his legs were able, if his loins worked like they were supposed to, he would have slept with half of the women in Kattegat by now.

The doors to the Longhouse opened, and Ivar felt his annoyance grow when Bjorn sauntered in with his sow and offspring in tow. He would want the head of the table, which Ivar was sitting in. Not wanting to wait for a comment about it, Ivar picked himself up and moved to another seat. It was then that everyone took their seats, including Aslaug who appeared behind the fishnet drapery that separated the hall that led to the Queen's quarters from the rest of the house.

Aslaug took her seat at the opposite end of the long table, facing Bjorn. Torvi sat to his left with Asa on her lap, Hati next to her, followed by Sigurd, and Ubbe to his mother's right. Guthrum sat across from his mother, at Bjorn's right, and Hvitserk sat next to Ivar, leaving an empty space next to him and Aslaug.

The vacancy of the seat was another prompt reminder to Aslaug that her anticipated guest was not there. Ivar had been dodging her questions about "Brynhilda" since the day after he returned. He didn't know how he felt about his mother's obsession over her. He supposed he was glad that she didn't recognize her true identity, but Ivar was reaching the end of his excuses of why Brynhilda had not come for an evening meal like the Queen had asked. The first excuse was that Brynhilda could not wash off all the mud from her hair, and did not want to come to dinner looking unclean. The second was that she was moving to a new homestead. On the third day, Aslaug suggested that she would come with him to see her, and Ivar had half a mind to suspect that she was onto him and Kára. To avoid this, Ivar spent the entire day with his brothers, sparring in the training yard and preparing for their upcoming hunting trip.

He shuffled through his mind for excuses, in preparation for the question he knew was coming. Though by some miracle of the gods, he didn't need to make one up. The door opened and _Brynhilda_ walked in.

Ivar found himself doing a double take; he did not recognize her immediately. Her hair was no longer that signature shade of orange and red, but a tame blonde. It cascaded about her shoulders until it reached her elbow. Around her head she wore a textured scarf, where wayward hairs sprung loose and framed her face. He could barely see the knot her hair formed behind her head, where thin braids originated from and dropped loosely around her shoulders. Her dress was modest, but Ivar mused that it was possibly the most feminine attire he has ever seen her in. The dresses she wore as a child did nothing to compliment her body. They were baggy, meant for her to grow into over the duration of a few years. Now, he had only ever seen her in working garb. Trousers, leggings, a long or short tunic. It was only once, the night he spent with her, that she wore an apron. The dress she came in wearing was a deep olive green, the apron a lighter shade of green but still dark. He could make out beaded threads going between two iron brooches. A simple chain also went around her waist, with little grooming tools dangling from the side. She hadn't come unarmed either. Hanging just below the chain around her waist was a leather belt where a short sword sat on her thigh.

Aslaug turned on her seat, and her face brightened when she saw the girl. Ivar merely had his mouth hung open, watching as the girl unstrapped her sword and placed it with the others.

"Brynhilda, I was starting to think you would never come," Aslaug's previous impatience seemed to be hidden behind a smile. She patted the empty spot next to her and told her to come.

Kára seemed stiff as a board, her eyes darting around the room, to faces she hadn't seen in years, and then to Ivar as she approached his side. His mouth wasn't so wide when she sat down next to him, but now he was looking at her with a furrowed brow, face filled with awe and confusion. She gave him a side glance, and then reached over to her ear, where she pushed a thread of blonde hair behind it. His eyes darted to her fingers, where she gently grazed a seam where the blonde hair was woven into. He could see the red hairline underneath it. He closed his mouth, but tried to hide his growing smirk underneath a hand.

Leaning in, he whispered, "Is that for my benefit?"

She side-eyed him, said nothing but gave him a sharp nudge with her elbow.

"I apologize for not coming earlier," Kára spoke, hands on her lap and fiddled with her fingers. "My hands were quite full with settling into Kattegat."

"Yes, I was told that Floki and Helga took you in as a tenant," Aslaug replied whilst the servants began to fill everyone's flagons and goblets.

Kára wondered a second time that day how the news even got out. She looked over at Torvi, who was otherwise preoccupied with helping herself to the food and giving Asa tiny bits of potato. Given her experience at Hedeby, gossip tended to travel fast if the messengers were women. It was a very true and very inconvenient stereotype to her gender, but she highly doubted the things that women whisper about amongst each other interest men.

Kára nodded, "He has me do some work with his ships as payment for my residence."

"Are you good at carpentry?"

Kára took a bowl of vegetables, helped herself, and handed it over to Aslaug. She shook her head, "Not at all. I can carve out a bow, or a fletch an arrow, but what Floki does is beyond my expertise."

Ivar couldn't help a chuckle as he passed her the mutton, to which she took and helped herself modestly.

"Floki can be very picky with his boats," he commented. "He does not even let me help him."

"I actually do not see him ever having help," Hvitserk added. He shoved a piece of his meat in his mouth.

Kára had not gotten a good look at him, but he seemed otherwise preoccupied with his drink and meal. She wasn't even sure if he was aware she was there, or who she actually was. However, she did notice that Sigurd seemed to steal glances her way, eyes darting from her to Ivar. And Ubbe, well, he sat across from her, eyes glued to his plate. She wasn't even sure he was paying attention to the conversation.

This dinner was filled with tension, and Kára wondered if it was because of her being there, or if it was because of Bjorn. He sat at the head of the table, the thrones sitting in the background. Kára couldn't help but be reminded of the first time she had dinner with the Ragnarssons, and how just as awkward it had been then. However, now, it felt like she was being interviewed.

The topic was changed from Floki to one that she was dreading. Aslaug picked up her goblet and cradled it in her long fingers to her chest.

"Ivar never mentioned where you are from," she sipped her spirits and placed it where it was on her chest. "You are new to Kattegat, yes?"

Kára swallowed a piece of bread nervously, and nodded. She chanced a glance at Bjorn, who was looking down at her with a neutral expression. They had rehearsed a story for her, knowing that Aslaug would want to know where she came from. They decided that it was best to keep to humble beginnings, to make her untraceable before a certain point.

"I have been here as a child, but I do not remember much of it," Kára improvised a half truth, but left it open ended. "I was originally born in Ringerike, my mother was a slave to a farmer. He could not afford to keep us both, so he sold us to a slave trader when I was very young, and then we were sold in Hedeby, where I lived most of my life."

Kára had been rehearsing this story on her way over where. She added some new details, like how she was a slave to a farmer. Bjorn never specified who, but she decided to add the detail before it could be asked.

"Hedeby," Aslaug mused, her eyes moving over to Bjorn with what Kára could only describe as wariness. Bjorn ignored her, seemingly preoccupied with making his youngest son laugh by putting a long and droopy carrot on his nose. "So you must know Bjorn's mother, Lagertha."

_More than you know,_ Kára thought before answering with a quick nod and hid her face into her flagon.

"Were you still a slave when you left? Because we would need to execute you for desertion." Sigurd asked.

Kára nearly forgot there were more people there, listening to her. When she looked at him, he didn't all seem very impressed. She noticed from her peripherals that Ivar was giving him a pointed look. Bjorn also seemed not so impressed by the question; it was obvious that Sigurd knew who she was, and he was baiting her. The oldest Ragnarsson dropped his carrot on his plate, officially inserting himself in the conversation.

"She is a free woman, Sigurd," he answered, leaning on his elbows. "My mother freed her when her mother died."

That was also part of their story. They had decided to kill off Kára's hypothetical mother, who was under Lagertha's employment, and freeing 'Brynhilda' was a gift for all the years of servitude. The problem with Bjorn interjecting was that they weren't supposed to know each other, at least not that closely. So, now, Kára had to improvise.

"You seem to know our guest quite well, Bjorn," Aslaug had barely touched her food, but now she had decided to tear open some bread, and mop the gravy that pooled on her plate. "I have also noticed how the two of you seem to appear in Kattegat at the same time. If I did not know any better, it would appear that the two of you have some kind of… intimate history?"

Kára could hear Ivar choke on his ale.

That was when Ubbe decided that the contents of his plate were no longer as interesting, because his bright blue eyes lifted up and looked between Bjorn, Aslaug, then her. Kára's mouth hung open, and she turned her head to Bjorn who had a deadpan expression on his face. He then shared a look with Torvi, who was trying to hide her amusement behind her goblet.

"What does in-tea-mit mean?" Hati's small voice broke the silence.

Ready to indulge the child, Hvitserk leaned over the table, "It means they had se-"

"I trained as a shieldmaiden the moment my mother left me, and I spent the last winter sparring with Guthrum and playing with Hati," The truth was the best lie she could come up with. "I met Bjorn when he came to stay for the Solstice."

"We had snowball fights!" Hati chirped up, adding his own style of confirmation to Kára's story. Torvi ran a hand down his hand, smiled at him, and told him to hush in a quiet voice.

Guthrum remained quiet, but that was not different to his character. He was always reserved, and from short conversations that Kára had with him, it had something to do with feeling like an outcast in his own tribe. He wasn't a bloodkin to Bjorn, despite the man referring him to his son. At the mention of his name, he merely perked up, but added nothing to the conversation.

"You must have quite a life in Hedeby," Aslaug rested her head on the back of her chair, and directed her attention back to 'Brynhilda'. "Why did you choose to leave it behind?"

Kára opened her mouth, intending to answer the question with what was prepared for her. They had discussed that Kára should have had some kind of falling out with Lagertha or someone of authority there, but it seemed like the plan was going out of the window.

"Lagertha…" Kára trailed off, trying to make sense of her words in her head before saying it. "She had no plans for raids this summer, and I-"

"I was collecting able warriors and vikings to come with me to the Mediterranean sea," Bjorn spoke through a huge bite of bread. His teeth crushed the crust, then he swallowed and washed it down with ale. "Brynhilda wanted an adventure, and I offered her a place in my company of vikings."

This all took them by surprise, especially with Kára. Her head whipped over to him, glad that Aslaug was behind her, because she would have seen the genuine look of shock in her wide eyes. Bjorn merely gave her a wink and a mute nod. Her mouth hung open in an 'o' shape. Was this his way of inviting her to his journey to the unknown? He had talked about the Mediterranean Sea, and the mysterious map he acquired from Paris for years now. The ships for the voyage were the ones that Floki was building at this moment. Kára had no experience as a viking, or at sea. She had been on fishing boats, but most of her life has been spent in the forest. Not even during the two years of being a shieldmaiden had she gotten the opportunity to join the raiding parties. Lagertha always had work for her to do in Hedeby or its surrounding villages.

Something settled in Kára's chest. It was warm and exciting, like she had just got something she didn't know she wanted, or needed. Should this place exist, it would go down in Viking history, and Kára would be a part of it. That is more than she has ever accomplished in all her 18 years of being on midgard. The silent decision was made. Kára's mouth relaxed into a grateful smile, and she gave a silent nod at Bjorn, accepting his invitation. His smile broadened, but he quickly smartened up and filled his mouth with mutton before Aslaug caught onto their silent conversation.

"Ah, yes, the voyage to the mysterious Mediterranean sea," Aslaug sighed as she leaned back into her seat. Her wine was starting to make her muscles relax and her mind to calmly buzz. She had little food, a mistake on her part. The strong spirits were getting her faster than she'd care for, but Aslaug had little appetite lately. "The time has finally approaching, is it not? Have you gathered enough men and women, Bjorn?"

Bjorn nodded, licking off the oil from his fingers, "I have gathered 200 of the finest vikings in all of Norway. Ubbe and Hvitserk, included."

Aslaug looked over to right, over to Sigurd, "You are not going, Sigurd?"

"I have no interest in travelling to a sea that probably does not exist," Sigurd shared no look at anyone when he spoke.

Kára thought how Sigurd had never changed. He had always been pessimistic and uninspiring. She was never a fan of his, but as a son of Ragnar and having his grandfather's namesake, she couldn't help but feel disappointed at the man he became.

"Sigurd would rather play his lute," Ivar spoke up, pointing a rabbit haunch at him. "He has no ambition outside of it."

The narrow of Sigurd's eyes showed that he already had a rebuttal at the ready. "What about you, Ivar? Why are you not going with Bjorn? Or should we start calling you Ivar the _Gutless?"_

Kára chanced a look at the man sitting next to her. He was gritting his jaw and the lid of his eye started to twitch. This was showing a remarkable amount of restraint on his part, and Kára wondered if there was a reason why Ivar wasn't throwing a tantrum over the insult. Was it because she was there, or because of the children? Or, perhaps, it was of Aslaug?

"Ivar is more than welcome to come," Bjorn spoke, looking at Sigurd, and then at the man in question. A light shrug on his shoulders as he relaxed back in his seat with his flagon in hand. "Provided if that is what _he_ wants."

The emphasis on the word 'he' filled the room with an implication that rattled Kára's bones. It wasn't a matter of whether or not Ivar wanted to go, it was a matter if Aslaug would allow it. Kára was partially glad that the conversation wasn't on her anymore, but she also felt more of a stranger than ever, now that she was in the middle of what is going to be an explosive family argument. She would rather help Floki with sewing sail patterns than being here.

Ivar seemed oblivious to the implication, and took no mind in waiting for his mother to reply for him. His fists planted on the table, he looked over at Bjorn, a large smile on his face as he gave a bow of his head, "Of course that is what I want."

"You are not going," Aslaug's voice was gentle, yet firm. It cut through the air like a bee's sting.

Kára watched the muscles of Ivar's face twitch as he slowly turned his head towards his mother. The frustration was immediately seen in the way his brows arched around his intensely blue eyes. Kára found herself reaching underneath the table and placing a gentle hand on his thigh in an attempt to settle him. He didn't seem to notice, because his resentment towards his mother's coddling was beginning to bubble up to the surface like the remains of a whale carcass.

"And why not?" The question was challenging. He wanted her to say the obvious. That he wasn't capable, because he was a cripple. "I am a man. Son to Ragnar Lothbrok, the greatest viking that ever lived. There should not be a reason for me not to go-"

"It is far too dangerous and unpredictable," Aslaug stressed. The way she closed her eyes meant that she was tired of this conversation. It must have been a topic in the past. "We do not even know if this place exists, and you have not been out to sea yet. This is not a voyage you can handle, Ivar."

"How can you make that assumption?" Bjorn was now leaning against the table. His previous relaxed demeanor changed to one that was just as stiff as Ivar's. "You have not given him a chance to prove his mettle."

"I am _his mother,_ " Aslaug stressed. She seemed to find her authority by the way her shoulders squared against the back of the chair. "I know what is best for him."

"Ivar is not a boy. He is a man. He knows what is best for himself."

"I have an inborn mother's instinct, Bjorn. I do not expect you to understand, especially since you have not been a father for very long."

"I would have been given that opportunity, had Siggy survived your _superio_ r maternal instinct."

Bjorn's words made the room feel absolutely frigid. Everyone, including little Asa, sat frozen in their spots. Hvitserk's mouth hung open with a piece of mutton in his fingers that he was in the process of eating. Ubbe's forearms were planted on either side of his plate, his head bowed, but his eyes travelling over to Bjorn. Sigurd sat neutrally, mouth slightly parted, eyes no longer in its usual narrow shape. Even Guthrum and Hati seemed to have balked in their seats.

Torvi extended her hand onto Bjorn's arm, his name on her lips in an attempt to placate him, but the seed was already planted and Bjorn was ready to sow them. His arm ripped from Torvi's comfort, and he returned his hardening glare at Aslaug. Kára watched the twitch of his fingers and the jitteriness of the muscles in his arms and jaw. He was in a restive state. He had been sitting on this for a while. That anger had never left him. The remorse, the mourning, and the resentment had not healed over time. The wound was still open, and by now it festered to the point of no return.

The look Bjorn gave Aslaug was one of provocation. He wanted her to argue, to rebuttal, or to defend. It would give him the opening he wanted. An argument intended to make her feel responsible for his daughter's death.

And when Kára slowly turned towards the Queen, she was surprised not to see her face contorted with anger. Her eyes were wide and glossy. Her chest rose and fell rapidly. She wasn't sure if Bjorn could see what she could see, but the expression on Aslaug's face wasn't one of rage, like his was.

It was of guilt.

Aslaug's eyelashes fluttered as she placed her goblet hastily on the table, and quickly gathered herself up from the table. Trembling fingers brushed down her apron as she excused herself from the table without looking at anyone's eyes, especially not Bjorn's. Her eyes casted to the floor as she briskly walked over to the net partition and disappeared behind it.

Kára watched her until the moment she was gone. She could vaguely hear Torvi trying to coo baby Asa in her arms. The disturbance was enough for even the infant to feel the unsettling atmosphere caused by it.

Kára's hand fell from Ivar's thigh; she hadn't realized she kept it there all this time. When Ivar felt the warmth of it gone, he looked over at her with concern. The girl had her eyes downcasted at her plate, which she barely touched. The tension was nauseating from the beginning, and now she had absolutely no appetite. She could see her deformed reflection in the steel plate, partially obscured by sauce and crumbs of bread. An image burned in the back of her mind, like a memory that painfully pushed itself to the forefront of consciousness. The face of Brynhildr aglow in the early spring sun as she pulled her from the depths of the frigid lake.

She wasn't sure what possessed her, but Kára excused herself and pulled out of the table. Everyone watched her with surprised expressions as she made her way to where Aslaug had disappeared to. Ubbe made a motion to follow her, but Sigurd placed a hand on his arm to stop him. Ivar twisted in his seat and watched the ends of her green skirt disappear behind the curtains, his brow furrowed in confusion and apprehension.

"My lady?" Kára opened the door to her bedroom slowly.

When the light of the sconces outside filtered into the room, she could see Aslaug hunched over, sitting on the edge of the bed with her fingers digging into her scalp. Her shoulders shuddered with the weight of her emotions. Her circlet was on the ground, and her hair cascaded wildly around her face and threading through her kneading fingers.

Aslaug was a broken woman. Kára had seen her in many states, but never like this. She never saw this woman to be weak by any means. Hysterical, unstable, and resentful, maybe, but never… sad. She couldn't help but be reminded of Ragnar, and the man he was under Hulda's care. He was just as broken and sad. It had humanized Ragnar for Kára, and that was no different with Aslaug.

When the glare of the light outside the room met Aslaug's eye, she reacted violently. The intrusion to her vulnerability lit a fire under what remained of her pride, and she countered it in a way a lioness would.

" **Get.** _**Out**_ ," she grabbed the first thing that was near her, which was an empty goblet that had been on the mattress. She whipped it towards Kára, but the girl managed to shield herself with the door. The bronze cup bounced off the wood and ricocheted onto the floor and rolled off into a corner.

Kára did not take the hint. Instead, she silently crept in and closed the door behind her. She flinched when Aslaug yelled at her again, repeating her earlier command, this time moving further into the bed, farther away from Kára. Again, Kára recalled to the times that Ragnar would react in such a way while he was in recovery. Every time he had an episode, her mother would react slowly and delicately when approaching him. She mimicked her memories, moving over to Aslaug's side, making sure she was within Aslaug's sights.

"Asl- My lady," Kára bent down on her knees in front of her. "Look at me, please?"

Aslaug fought against her gaze, "Did I not command you to leave, girl? Go, before I have you flogged for your insolence!"

Nervously, Kára licked the bottom of her lip, "I am not leaving you."

Aslaug looked at her with wide, watery eyes. She watched her languidly like an abused cat, as she got up from the floor and sat down beside her. She flinched when the girl touched her hand, but for some reason allowed her to hold it gently, yet firmly. Kára's other hand moved on top of it, encasing Aslaug's fingers in her hold.

"Breathe with me," she spoke gently, and began to take a deep inhale, holding it, and then exhaling.

Aslaug watched her for a beat before following her. Her shoulders still shuddered and her fingers were still trembling. She could feel her own heart pounding in her chest as if a prisoner behind bars. But she followed the girl's instructions, eyes focusing on her face as she inhaled deeply, and held her breath, before exhaling it in length. With every intricately long breath she took she found her nerves settle, but in tow came tiredness. The adrenaline fading, the alcohol taking control of her mind once again. The tears she shed no longer felt like searing molten iron going down her face, but warm rain dripping down her cheeks.

Kára watched as the queen's head declined and her eyes rested shut. Her fingers had stopped trembling in her grasp, and her shoulders sagged. Eventually, Aslaug had stopped matching her breaths, but that was when she nearly collapsed on her side and Kára caught her in a loose embrace. She moved her until her head was laying on her lap. Aslaug curled into her, and moved her arms around her waist and huddled into her body. The dampness Kára felt seeping through the fabric of her dress told her that the crying hadn't stopped, but at least she was calm. Not knowing what to do with her hands, she moved them along the length of Aslaug's hair, petting her head and just allowed the woman to sob into the fabric of her new dress.

Kára then felt the vibration of Aslaug's chest before she heard her voice breach the haze of sleep and inebriation.

"Please never leave me again, Mother," the queen inhaled sharply and buried her nose in the girl's lap. "I need you... I need you…"

Kára shut her eyes tightly, and felt the air in her lungs hitch and the sting of tears threatening to breach through her lids. Her own heart weighed with mourning. The face of her own mother is present in her mind, and the reminder of those very words she used to whisper to herself during her many sleepless nights alone in Hedeby. When Kára opened her eyes, she was looking up at the ceiling, feeling the weight of the world on her shoulders.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One of my biggest peeves with the show was that they never talked about Siggy after she died. Bjorn never mentions her. In real life, that isn't how it would work. He'd know that his daughter's death would be Aslaug's fault, given that she was supposed to look after her. So I really wanted that to be a point of contention between him and Aslaug. Their relationship didn't have any foundation before that, and I think this adds much needed conflict between the two. Not to mention, that as a mother herself, I don't think Aslaug would have been completely indifferent to letting an infant die on her watch. I'd imagine that when she sobered, or when she was alone, she actually was devastated.
> 
> Contrary to what my story is built on, I don't hate Aslaug. Actually, I'm just disappointed in how they wrote her, given the fact that in reality she was a strong woman, who was a warrior in her own right. She even fought to avenge the deaths of her step sons, if I remember that correctly. So I really wanted to play sympathy for the devil for Aslaug, and I hope I gave her some humanity in this chapter.
> 
> Anyway, hope you all enjoyed! Happy readings!


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